Bunkhouse
by Kadrian
Summary: Six months. Alex had been searching for John Rider for six months. He became the thief, the police, the accomplice, and the player. He was an agent of Scorpia but so was he an officer of the law. Sometimes he was both, sometimes he was neither. For the 16 years old Alex, his fling with Scorpia found him more lies than truths he had set out to find.
1. Part I: Central Bank Failed to Withstand

"He's on the roof!" The radios crackled to life in Alex's pocket as he hurdled easily over the small metal electric box with the black bundle over his shoulder, "Unit Five, prepare for intersection. He's closing in on the roof. Net him and prepare for the fall. Prepare the cushion. I repeat, Unit Five, intersect him and do not let him run away!"

Alex smiled as he leaned forward and pushed off the edge of his rail with his hands, his feet giving an extra frog-like push as he leapt between the empty space of the bank and the adjacent business building. He felt a net shooting out beneath him, grazing his jacket softly but out of reach, before dropping back as gravity took control. Still too short, Alex chuckled. Luckily, the opposite building was built in similar height to the bank he had just came from and he rolled effortlessly across the surface as he broke his fall.

"Fail intersection! He's over!" The same man's voice rang out in the radio, "I repeat, he is over! Unit Two, prepare interruption."

"We're too far away, sir," A different man said hastily and Alex heard footsteps echoing across the static.

"Jesus Christ, is anyone near his position?"

"Unit One coming up the stairs," A loud voice informed the commander and the rest, as well as Alex, through the radio, "We can intersect him on the roof."

"Good, corner him but do not harm him. He's just a boy," The commander said.

Just a boy. Alex raised an eyebrow to no one as he did a ninety degree turn over the metal pole much like pole dancing and rolled down the steep surface of the solar panels, cutting across to the roof of the building next door, "Sir! Target has cut across and taken a different path!"

Alex heard the loud impact of the metal roof door against the walls as he landed lightly on his feet. Oh bloody hell, they're going to break the door if they don't stop opening it that way. He could hear it fifty meters away for heaven's sake.

"Yo Al," His earpiece crackled to life as he made his jump cross building, latching onto the rim of the outcrop window before pulling himself up. The building was just a little taller than he had expected. His feet found secure footholds and he reached up with slight propels and helps from his legs.

"Great timing, mate," Alex grunted as he swung himself over the edge, "Clear the east street traffic for me, will ya?"

"You've got it!" Tom replied cheerfully as Alex pulled open the trap door and climbed down the immediate stairs, "Gonna steal a car, Al?"

"Motorcycle," Alex corrected him as he flipped himself over the second story stairs, "Faster and more efficient."

"He has entered the building!" The police radio by his belt was alive again and this time in a furry of activities, "All units, surround the building perimeter. Unit Six, are you near?"

"Yessir!"

"Block all exits."

"Sir, this is a high-traffic hotel," Someone else said, "There seems to be a ball going on. We can't just storm in and-"

"We bloody well can when he's holding two hundred grands!"

"Where're you gonna nick a motorcycle, mate?" Tom asked as Alex slowed down to a walk before pulling the door open. He was in a hotel now. Pretty bad decision, but he needed to get to the parking lot beneath.

"Parking lot," Alex rolled his eyes as he began a slow run again, passing the fancily dressed men and women in a rush, nearly tripping over a waiter in the process. This was a ball in addition to a hotel. Just great. The waiter yelled at him from behind as Alex ducked and rolled beneath and long banquet table. Hmm, the food smelled really nice.

"We have confirmation of his location!" Someone said.

Alex's eyes roamed his surrounding as he rolled out from under the table and made a mad dash down the nearby staircase, flipping himself over the freshly dusted railing and landing in a roll on the soft carpet floor. Fancy. It smelled like freshly laundered clothing.

There, at two o'clock, he could see two uniformed men coming his way, "Hey, Tom?"

"Yah?"

"Any chance you can turn off the light?"

"Like a power outage?" Tom asked, delighted, and Alex could hear his fingers flickering over keyboards.

"Yes."

"You've got it, mate."

Two seconds later, the power fizzled and went out, right before the chaos started. It was night and without light it was hard to see anything. And when people loosed one of their sights, they tend to panic like critters. He shrugged. Maybe not critters but at the moment, he couldn't find a better word. Alex flicked his night vision goggle over his eyes, getting accustomed to the green light, as he slid down the railings.

"Sir, there's a power outage!"

Alex easily snuck past the panicking guests as he rushed down the last staircase and pushed open the exit door. The fire alarm sounded and Alex grimaced. It was an emergency exit door. Oops. Wrong door.

"He must have left the building," A man reported over the police radio, "Can someone check which exit he took."

"There're only a few each floor," Someone replied, "I thought you blocked of all the exits?"

"No sir, Mayford hasn't report in."

"Then that's the one! Where is it connected to?"

"The parking lot, sir."

"Oh bloody hell!" The commander swore loudly, "Do not let him get his hands on any vehicles."

"Hey Tom, are motorcycles considered vehicles?" Alex asked as he scaled the stairs and spilled into the dark parking lot. It was even darker down here if possible, seeing that it was underground and the 'power outage' had shut off all lights, even the dim and barely visually-pleasing electric tubes overhead.

"Of course they are," Tom replied, "Vehicle's a very general term, Al."

"I suppose I need to know that for SAT."

"Nah," His friend said and Alex heard someone else shouted in the background, "You need to know words like Otorhinolaryngologist."

"Otor-what?" Alex nearly choked on the word as he skidded to a stop beside a motorcycle. It looked pretty new through his night vision goggles. He bent down and began hotwiring the vehicle.

"Otorhinolaryngologist," Alex could differ James' voice out better for he must have moved closer to the microphone, "Like a toe, ear whatever doctor or something."

"I don't think they really need to know that," Tom objected, "You barely even use that word."

"I agree with Tom," Alex said as he finally heard the engine spluttered to life. He kicked the stand up and gunned the engine.

"We have sighted him in the parking lot, sir!" Oh damn, maybe it was a little too loud.

"Take him down!"

"Shoot him, sir?"

"No! Physically take him down! Stop him from leaving!"

By the time they'd finished their short banter, Alex was already zooming out of the slowly closing entrance on his stolen motorcycle.

"He's out, sir!"

"Oh Jesus Christ!"

"And I think he has taken one of the radios, sir."

"Bloody hell! That's why he knew our every moves! Track him! Do not let him get too far."

One minute later with Alex zooming through the green lights, the policemen on the other side of the radio brought in grave news, "I think we've lost him, sir."

Alex shrugged easily. How depressing.

The two hundred grands in his black sack was getting heavier by the moment. He should bring a cart next time to bank robberies. Like seriously.

RRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR

"We made the headline again!" Tom said, pumping his fists into the air as he rocked back on the smooth tiling, "You've gotta hear this, Al!"

Alex glanced unamused from his computer at where Tom was holding a newspaper, rather battered from being thrown in excitement, and was dancing like he was two.

"Parkour Robber: Central Bank Failed to Withstand," Tom said as he whooped loudly, "Let's go, Al!"

"Oh shut up, Tom," James threw his bread wrapper over, "It was all Al's victory."

They were sitting on the roof, staring down at the busy North Harrison square. Tom had said, in his best serious news reporter style voice, that the square was named after him and there must be three other squares, South Harrison, West Harrison, and East Harrison, out there waiting to be discovered by His Truly. James' 'yeah right' turned it into a loud banter about the correct usage of 'yeah' that Alex had opted out.

"But I created the perfect escape plan for him."

"Correction, I did," James said as he bit down a chunk of his bread that Alex had legally brought from the store few streets by, "I was the one who mapped out all the streets and escapes."

"I create the power outage."

"Al suggested."

"I nicked the police radio."

James opened his mouth but found nothing to retort and Tom whooped again, "Ha! Beat that, James!"

Alex turned back to his computer. He had given the money to the man but, great news, they were still short of fucking three hundred grands as the email he had just received said.

"Cheer up, Al," Tom said, noticing his deepening frown and narrowed eyes, and slapped him on the shoulder friendly, "We've got this. Just three hundred more, and then the debt will be wiped slate clean and hostage released. We haven't been caught the last four times, we can do this."

"This is rather illegal though," James added in an afterthought to Tom's reply.

"I should've never involved you guys," Alex ran a hand through his hair, "If any of you get caught…"

"We volunteered for this, Al," James cut him off, "It's our choice. So stop blaming yourself. Besides, it's your father we're talking about."

Tom gave James a skeptical glance, "I bet you just like that man's cooking."

"Hey, he cooks really well!" James protests, "He invites us over every now and then too!"

Alex cracked a smile then turned the computer over, "We've got our next assignment."

"Let's enjoy it while it lasts, eh?" Tom said as he stuffed the newsletter into his backpack, "What is it this time?"

"Some documents," Alex said, glancing at the screen as the three of them gathered around, "From the animal shelter center."

Tom frowned, "Documents? I thought it was just money?"

"Yeah, me too," Alex swallowed, "Can't be that much worse."

"Well, this is some sneaky Scorpia we're talking about holding your father ransom," James said, "I don't suppose we can take any chances in not doing that."

"James' right," Alex said as he shut the lid and placed it into Tom's backpack, "C'mon, let's get ready."

RRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR

"Radio check!" Alex turned down the value from the police radio Tom had managed to nick, again, "Make sure your radio is there and that it's not taken."

Alex glanced at the radio in his hand. After the last one, Alex had come to the realization, much to James and Tom's horror that he hadn't earlier, the police officer Mayford was actually an undercover alias Tom had created for him. And that was how this radio landed in his hand. It was rightfully his, in a way.

Too bad that Officer Mayford was a relatively small figure in the police force. His radio wouldn't be missed. Oh, he meant Officer Mayford wouldn't be missed. But he supposed they were the same thing.

"Mayford present," Alex spoke in his best grown-man voice as it got to him reporting in.

The current situation looked rather bleak. He hadn't notice the tripwire alarm outside the file safe when he took it. It alerted the authority immediately. In the long ten minutes that Alex tried to deactivate the alarm, the police had already surrounding the building though rather reluctant to enter.

"Unit Six, I hope you have all exits covered?" The commander, the same one again, asked, "Especially you, Mayford!"

"Yessir!" Alex said seriously before grinning as he heard the commander replied in approval.

"All right, tonight might be it," The commander said, "Take him down but do not harm him. I want him in custody immediately."

Alex had been hiding in the air vent for the past five minutes, flickering softly over the files he was holding in his hand. It was some file about a guy. He was a very generous donner to the shelter. Absently, he wondered why Scorpia would want a file like this. Not that he knew the ways of psychopaths.

Alex placed the police earpiece to his ear as he tapped the one connecting him to James and Tom awake, "Hey Tom?"

"Al?"

"Is there a speaker in the shelter?" Alex asked as he rolled over gently onto his stomach and peered down the vent. The police was still yet to enter.

"Yeah, want me to connect it to you?" Tom asked.

"No," Alex replied as he tapped the police transmitter alive. They were still preparing and spreading out. He would need some distraction. What makes police tenser than shots fired? "Can you put some machine gun firing over the speaker?"

"Like gaming stuff," Tom said, excited.

"Yes, but without the yelling and all the hack n' slash sounds," Alex corrected him, "Make it realistic."

"Should I go on YouTube?" Tom asked, "Or should I make it manually?"

"YouTube," Alex said immediately, "They have quality gun sounds."

"Righto," Tom said and a moment later, the sound of gun firing erupted across the encased shelter.

"Shots fired!" He could immediately hear the response from the police radio, "Inside the building! There might be more than one person inside! Enter with caution!"

"Yessir!" Came the replies and suddenly, the front door was kicked open and guns were splayed out.

"Cut it out," Alex said quietly to Tom immediately as the door was kicked open.

The speaker went dead at his command. Alex watched, rather giddily, from atop as the policemen began slowly walking into the room.

"Damage count?" The commander asked.

"Nothing's broken, sir," He saw one men replying to the com on his shoulder, "It must have come from the backroom."

"Proceed with due caution."

"Yessir."

"Hey Al," James came online.

"Yeah?"

"If you go up that vent you're in," James instructed, "You can reach the roof."

"I know," Alex replied softly, "But it's too low. They'll spot me almost immediately."

"Do you plan to stay stuck in there?"

"Oh all right," Alex sighed as he heaved himself slightly to his forearms and began pushing himself back slowly.

"There's a taller building right next to the shelter. Jump on there and then there will be more roof for you to take." There was a pause, "Hey, look at this, Tom! It's a dance roof."

"Care to explain?" Alex asked as he slowly pushed up the exhaustion pipe and eased his head slightly over the top to peer over.

"Well, it's like a hangout place for people to like dance and such," James said, "I've always wanted to attend one."

"That's just weird," Tom replied, "Hey, Al. Want another burst of gunfire for distraction?"

"That'd be great," Alex said as he tapped the other radio.

"All clear, moving to backroom," One of the men was saying.

The loud eruption of gunfire once again made him wince and taking the chance, he hoisted himself out of the pipe and rolled across the flat roof silently.

"Sir, it's blasted from a speaker!"

A tad bit later. Perhaps two seconds, Alex mused. They shouldn't drive with that reaction time.

"It's a distraction!"

Definitely shouldn't drive.

Alex stashed the file into his inner jacket pocket and flung himself onto the adjacent building, latching onto the edge and swung himself up with a simple pull-up. Oh who was he kidding, with his hands nearly frozen from the AC the shelter, doing a pull-up was similar to cutting a frozen pork in half.

Not that he knew how it felt like.

"Target sighted! He's on the adjacent building!"

Alex glanced at the loud speaker located on the corner of the roof and tapped Tom, "Hey, can you connect to that dance speaker thing?"

"Hmm, I'm in," Tom said after a brief strokes of keyboards. Alex saw the green light blinking on, "What do you want me to play?"

"When you hear the confirmation, play a single gunshot," Alex said as he tune in to the police radio.

"Mayford, you're the closest! Take him down and buy time for us!" The commander was yelling, "Don't screw this up!"

"What's the confirmation?" Tom asked.

"You'll know," Alex said before switching to his Mayford voice, "Target sighted. Permission to take the shot, sir?"

"What? No!" The commander yelled, "Physically take him down! Tackle him, whatever! Don't shoot! I repeat, don't shoot!"

"Now?" Tom asked.

Alex rolled his eyes, "Yeah, now."

The loud speaker had excellent sound quality as Tom blasted the shot over the system. Pretending to stagger for theatric dramatics, Alex stumbled across the roof like a drunkard, holding his side to make it more appealing.

"Target has been shot!" Someone yelled.

"Mayford!"

Alex let himself drop onto the floor and out of sight before speaking into the police transmitter, "I have the target apprehended, sir."

"Did you shoot him?"

"Yessir."

"Oh Jesus Christ!" The commander was yelling louder if possible, "Apply pressure to the wound! Do not let him die! And Mayford, you're fired after this!"

All in the right time, "Yessir."

Alex rolled across the roof quickly and flung himself to the close-by roof, all the while keeping low and out of sight.

"Al," Tom was suddenly serious.

"What?" Alex asked, suddenly feeling apprehensive as he one-handed the railings, breaking his fall with a roll and leaping to his feet immediately, "Something wrong?"

"Did you just get Mayford fired?" Tom asked incredulously.

Alex sighed, "I don't like him. Mayford's such a stupid name."

"James and I put so much effort and time into this!" Tom whined and James joined in, "Yeah, I even had to be there physically for the check-in. You can't just throw away our hard work, Al!"

"I'll reconsider," Alex said half-heartedly, heaving himself over the wall and tumbling down the outside of a metal chute.

"Sir, the roof is empty!" They'd caught up.

"Mayford, report position!"

"I'm chasing the target, sir!" Alex said, deepening his voice slightly, "He was wearing a bullet proof vest," Alex glanced at the building to the opposite direction he was going, "He's heading toward your position!"

"Alright! Everyone at the ready! Be prepared to apprehend him!"

"Yessir!"

"Mayford, how close?"

Alex tapped Tom as he unplugged his ear piece and placed it near the police one, "Hey Tom, give me a really loud gunshot through this thing."

Tom did.

"What was that?" The commander demanded as Alex fixed the ear piece back on, "Mayford?"

Alex didn't reply. The man Mayford was 'shot' and he had to act perhaps a little like it. He gave a great grunt before replying, "Been shot. Target has a gun."

"Oh great job, Al," Tom said sarcastically, "Now you're one up on their list of dangerous criminals."

"I'm enjoy this, shut up," Alex chuckled slightly, "This will make them rethink."

"But you still haven't secure the job back for Mayford!" James whined.

RRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR

The phone rang and the three of them were crowding around it in an instant, "You pick it up, Al. It's for you."

"I'm not Mayford, you are," Alex objected, glaring at Tom and James in turn.

"You spoke with the man before."

"Over a badly-static radio," Alex pointed out as he scooped up the phone reluctantly, "Harry Mayford."

"Mayford, report to my office immediately," It was the commander, "I need to speak with you regarding your work lately."

"I thought I was fired," Alex said then added, "Sir."

"You are," The man didn't sound too happy about it, "But you're probably the closest person we've ever had near the target."

"He was wearing the usual black mask," Alex said, "He looked the same close up as he did far away."

"Get your ass down to the station right now, Mayford," The commander said before he hung up abruptly.

"What did he say?" Tom asked, catching the context almost immediately after Alex said 'sir'.

"Get my ass down to the station immediately," Alex said, shrugging slightly, "Should I go and save Mayford's arse?"

"Yes," James and Tom said in unison, "But before that, let's give you some pretty make-ups."

Two minutes later, he emerged from the door to the rooftop with his blue and his hair pulled back with gel. Tom told him he looked handsome and perhaps a few years older. By Tom's standard, Alex didn't really think too much about it.

"Officer Mayford reporting to work," James said in a deep tone behind him, "Stay safe, honey."

"Oh shut up," Alex rolled his eyes as he pulled his tie up and buttoned his suit by one, "Alright, here I go."

"And Al?" Tom said.

"Yeah?"

"No parkour in that suit," Tom said, patting him on the shoulder, "Absolutely no parkour. That suit is expensive."

"Right."

Alex biked to the station. He couldn't risk using the motorcycle he'd stolen and he hadn't had a chance to nick a car yet. It was weird, he knew, to be biking in a suit but Tom said no parkouring. That means he couldn't run. Dammit, that took all the fun.

The sakura trees outside the station was blossoming and pink petals gave him a welcoming as he pushed the door open and walked inside. This was, he realized, the first time the commander was ever seeing him. Like, really, face to face. Because according to James and Tom, Mayford came to the officer only a few days ago and did some desk job before he was suddenly promoted to Unit Six thanks to Tom's editing skills. They'd never really see his face besides that one time that James apparently had come to the station to work.

"You must be Mayford," Alex recognized the man immediately by his voice even if not by his face. Not that he'd seen the man's face before, "I'm Wolf Lestrade, Commander of the units."

"I'm Mayford," Alex confirmed.

"Come in," The man gestured toward his office and led the way.

Alex followed, feeling the formal suit and shoes very unfitting of him as he walked gentlemen style into the room.

"Take a seat," The man offered.

Wolf Lestrade was probably in his early thirties, or late twenties to be precise. He had a slightly crooked nose but a handsome face, by Tom's standard, nonetheless, "Now, I want to discuss with you your work and a chance of promotion."

Alex couldn't believe what he was hearing. Was the man mentally disabled? Mayford, promotion? That man, or Alex himself really, had shot the target, managed to lose the target, and had never really shown up physically to work

"Promotion, sir?" Alex asked, bemused.

"You've demonstrated excellent reflexes and instincts," Wolf nodded, "When our men were scouting the interior, you were already one-step ahead and chasing down the target. You're very close, the closest, as I've told you over the phone, to seeing the target."

"I'm sorry, sir," Alex said as politely as he could, "But I-"

Just hold on a second. Having an inside contact with the police station will grant him more benefits than he could've thought. Instant updates on how they were going to look for him, new fancy gadgets, and great food. Maybe not the last two, but nonetheless, it was a great opportunity, like James and Tom had said, for him.

"But?" Wolf inquired.

"Nothing sir," Alex put on his award-winning melodramatic damsel-in-distress face, "It's just that, I have a wife and four children at home. I really need this job right now."

"How old are you?" Wolf asked incredulously without even bothering to hide his skepticism.

Racking his brain to pull up the Mayford file, he recited, "Twenty two, sir."

"And you have a wife and four children."

"A girlfriend," Alex backtracked a little. He should keep things along the normal humane path. Something along the line of him never being able to get a stable relationship with the rate he was going. Perhaps after he saved his father from doom, he would consider some serious relationship issues. That was, if Uncle Ian didn't have him go on another match date. Or if Tom weren't on his normal routine of throwing his profile on Tinder date.

"And four children?"

"Imaginary," Alex offered helpfully with an award-winning awkward toothy grin.

"And your girlfriend hasn't left you yet," Damn, what a blunt commander.

Alex hummed slightly and clicked his fingers after several seconds of thoughtful silence, "She might be imaginary too."

This conversation was officially turning awkward. Really awkward. Way over the awkward-meter Alex constantly carried.

"Right," Wolf dragged the word out then sighed, "Look, you look like an honest kid an-"

"Man," Alex corrected.

"Well, you look like you're sixteen, young man," Wolf shook his head exasperatedly, "You're honest, I can see."

Oh boy, how far from the truth the man was. Especially when less than a day ago the man was over his head chasing him down the building.

"And I'd really hate to sack you over this, especially since it's just your first week," Wolf continued, "So what do you say that we pretend this how conversation didn't happen and you were never this close," Wolf pinched his fingers together and left no gap, "to getting fired."

"That'd be a great idea, sir," Alex grinned.

"Good," Wolf straightened, himself and his tie, "In the future, I expect you to act your part in all police scenes and do not step out of line. Am I making myself absolutely clear?"

"Crystal clear, sir."

"Dismissed."

Oh boy oh boy, things were just getting fun. He would have giddily rubbed his hands together like some sort of cliché cartoon character but instead, acting the part of a civilized police officer walking out of his commander's door, he did a small joyous dance. He was really enj-

"Oh right," Wolf called out, "How's your bullet wound?"

"Bullet wound?" Alex paused. Oh right. Oh shit.

"That parkour boy shot you yesterday. Did you get checked out?"

"Just some bruising," Alex said, placing a hand slowly to his side in a vain attempt to pretend that he was holding his side the whole time, "Bullet proof vest."

The commander shrugged, "Coincidental that the parkour had one on too."

" _Yeah_ ," The word was dragged out dramatically slow like a dying penguin, "Coincidence."


	2. Anti-Social Psychopaths

"You've been a good boy, Alex," The man said, his tone gentle and kind. Like an old ancient grandfather out on Halloween night giving kids candy. Okay, maybe that was a little bit creepy. But that was honestly what Alex was feeling at the moment. In addition to that, he felt cornered like a jackal. Hold on, do jackals get cornered?

"I want updates on my father," Alex demanded as he slid the files he had taken from the animal shelter across the table. It made a sandpaper sound across the wooden table.

Brilliant afternoon light shone through the glass panel but their table was situated so far that only a very small stream of light was about to lay finger on the edge of their table. The man slowly mixed his coffee with seemingly little to no interest in the file Alex had slid toward him. If Alex hadn't known the man better, he would say that he really had no interest. The slight satisfied smile and switch of glance toward the file told him otherwise.

"Day forty-two," In return, the man slid an image toward him, "He's looking quite better than we expected."

Alex took a glance before narrowing his eyes, "This is the same picture you show me the first three times."

"Printer ran out of ink," The man shrugged as he took a sip, smacking his lips together to savor the flavor before letting out a satisfied sigh, "My apologies. But I will be sure to point out the depletion of supply to the boss."

"Yeah, run along and scurry to your boss," Alex sneered as he sat back, his own drink untouched.

The man merely continued his coffee as if it was an everyday event. Though, as Alex thought about it, it might actually be a common everyday event. Once a week, the man would come pick up the documents or money and Alex would fall into his habit of asking for a picture before ending up insulting the man. The first time made the man raise an eyebrow, second barely a twitch and third the man didn't even bother.

What an anti-social psychopath.

"But I can tell you that he's alive," The man said as he finally set down his white tea-cup with its content half-empty. Wow, half-empty. He was thinking more and more like a pessimist, "And he's fairly well. Now, let's talk about your little errands."

Alex snorted.

"We are very disappointed that you recruited two acquaintances to join your adventure. But no matter, as long as you're enjoying it. But if they let slip one word…" The ever-so-cliché threat hung dangerously in the air.

"Don't you dare," Alex growled.

The man chose not to answer the rhetorical statement, "And Officer Mayford's a pretty nice inside cover. That Wolf commander is less intelligent than we'd thought."

None of his business if someone other than him was insulted but Alex felt the need to say something for the kind-hearted commander, "He's just slow on the uptake."

Scratch that. Alex felt that he'd be better in the sarcasm and insult department.

"Whatever you say," The man had no objection nor agreement toward his insulting statement for the commander. He stood to leave, "As usual, I hope the one grand is enough for your living fee until the next time we meet. Your errands will still be sent as usual and I'm very excited to read the next headline you make. They can be a little more creative, don't you think?"

"Quite so, I'm looking forward to your assignments," Alex said as he took a sip of his hot cholate. It burned his tongue in a similar way to his lie.

* * *

"Hello, North Highland Police Department. How may I help you?" The cheerful male voice of the front desk answered the call on the first ring.

"This is Officer Mayford, Harry Mayford," Alex said as he sat back against the cool stone railing and feeling the wind breezing through his hair, "I'm calling in absent today."

"Let's see," The man clicked away on his keyboard for a few moment, "You have no active assignments at the moment so you're all checked out. I'll report that to the commander if anything arises."

"Thank you," Alex said with a smile that he knew the man couldn't see but couldn't care less. Human emotions were very important to a human, screw what others thought of him.

"No problem," The man replied cheerfully, "If that's all?"

"Yes, thank you again," Alex said as he lowered the phone and pressed the end of call button.

"Tom," Alex called, "I've called in, are you happy?"

"Absent after that mishap?" Tom was not happy by the sound of it, "You might bloody well be fired tomorrow. Just because you want to go on a fake vacation to visit your fake friends doesn't mean you can neglect your real job."

"You're still salty," Alex stated.

Tom and James gave him simultaneous stink eyes, "That's for getting Mayford nearly fired."

Alex shot them incredulous looks of mock disgust, "Oh right, suddenly you have an imaginary best friend Mayford to debunk me."

"Don't you say bad things about Mayford," James pointed out.

Alex was unamused, "You do realize Mayford is really just me."

James hmphed disgruntled as Tom shot Alex fake disappointment daggers through his eyes, "Fine. What's our next job?"

Alex pulled up the computer he was looking at before the call, "Another bank."

"Jeez," Tom shook his head as he sat against the metal railing by the edge of the roof, "They should at least make some variety. It's always been banks. Like, I mean I'd really want to go to some amusement parks."

"We did rob an animal shelter," Alex pointed out helpfully as he scrolled through the mail.

"Which bank is it?"

"Some bank I think down the corner," Alex said as he swirled it across his lap to face Tom and James, "Royal and General Bank. Have you heard of it?"

"Nah, but I heard it's posh," Tom leaned in for a closer look, "Like fancy chandeliers and golden walls."

"Extra security," Alex grimaced, running a hand absently through his hair. It was getting a little long, he should cut it.

"Don't worry mate," James clapped him on the shoulder, a habit he must have picked up from Tom, "I've got your back. I'm _the_ escape-planner, remember? I can find you an entrance and an exit in no time. How much are we getting?"

Alex frowned as James leaned in to read, "Hold on. This isn't a robbery. They said to leave a message, but not take anything."

"What's the message?"

"Abort or he dies," Alex shrugged, "With a scorpion stamp on it. Some serious creepy psychopath message probably."

"You know that's probably really illegal, right?" Tom asked carefully, "I mean, it's a life we're talking about here."

"The bank's the one making the decision," Alex said, "We don't have anything to do with this. In fact, we might actually be saving this person's life, whoever he is. We let them know that they have a life in danger but other than that, we're no part of it."

"Besides, robbing a bank of two hundred grand is sure more illegal than this," James said a tad bit unhelpfully in Alex's opinion. It reminded him of the bleakness of the situation they were in. They couldn't just go and rob any bank and take any amount. Each time the quantity, objective and location were fixed. Until they could meet the ransom amount, they had to keep doing the petty jobs. Alex swore that one day, just out of sadistic natures, they would make him rob a convenient store for two dollars for the fun of it.

"We have two weeks to get this done," Tom said, pointing at the screen, "That's a week longer than usual."

"More dangerous," James grimaced but brightened, "But this's like one of the spy movies, isn't it?"

"Well, I opt out of being James Bond," Alex raised his hand, "I want to be the tree in the background."

"I'll be your bush," Tom offered.

"I'll be the water," James nodded.

There was a pause of silence as they found conflicts in their logic, "Who's going to be James Bond then?"

Alex snorted, "Why don't we ask Mayford?"

"Great idea!"

* * *

Alex was bored. Wrong. Mayford was bored. Sitting in the chair, Alex swirled the chair around slowly before turning to face his computer again. He'd browsed the police record sixteen times, received five calls and two prank calls, ordered a pizza with his cellphone of course, and finished the stack of reports.

"Mayford, what are you doing?" Oh, it was the Big Bad Wolf again.

"Hey commander," Alex greeted the man, "I'm done with my work. Can I leave early?"

"What about the community concerns I gave you two hours ago?" Wolf came over, skepticism on his face as he took a sip of his coffee, "You were supposed to write a report on that."

"I did," Alex went through his drawer and pulled out the stack. Seven pages. He was so proud of himself, "Honestly, their complaints are pretty much the same. Some sneaky gang around the corner. Should get someone down there at night to check that out. And some poor neighbor's wolf dog's missing. I'm great with dogs, but I'm a desk officer so I don't do that. But I'm always avai-"

"Hand me that," Wolf interrupted him, grabbing the paper rudely as he sat down his coffee on his table and began leafing through the paper, "What 'bout crime reports?"

"One came in this morning and one over the phone," Alex said, pulling out another stack of paper, "Some man's wallet was stolen and oh, there's a robbery thing downtown if I recall correctly."

Wolf, giving him a glance, took the paper from him and browsed through them. His eyebrows were rising higher and higher with each paragraph and Alex took inner satisfaction from it. Uncle Ian, or Ian as the man had strictly told him to call him by, was ever so hell-bindingly stern for him to get his reports neat correct and fast in case he ever wanted to pursue a desk job. Though Alex was so sure he was going to become the world's greatest archer.

"Detention cells?" Wolf set the papers down as he took a sip.

"All calm and peaceful," Alex said then added thoughtfully, "Though there was this one man when I poked my head in blabbering that he wanted to confess about thirty minutes ago. Not my department but no one was available at the moment. He said some gibberish about strange man down at dock and-"

Wolf's attention was instantly on him, "Strange man at dock? Was it Cell 80A?"

"Might've been," Alex shrugged, "Can I go now?"

"No, you're coming with me," Wolf said as he turned, heading toward the cells. Alex got off his chair and rushed to catch up with the man striding downstairs, "This is the first time the man wanted to confess. It's been three days and we've almost given up. We can't just let him go because of his crime but we can't through him in jail for a crime he did not commit."

"My magical power," Alex nodded with narcissistic appreciation, "Makes people want to speak the truth."

Wolf gave him a withering look, "Look, you're new, I get it. But speak with respect to your superiors, Mayford."

"Yessir," With Tom and James in mind, Alex pulled his narcissism down a notch. Mayford was James Bond after all, James Bond, and his covers, must not be destroyed so early in the season or how else were they supposed to make money from franchises.

They descended the stairs to the cell and made a right turn. There were only a few holding cells and Alex found himself back to Cell 80A. It was a detention cell like all others. Gray metal door and a two-way mirror.

"I'll stay out then," Alex pointed at the mirror, "And watch."

"All right," Wolf nodded before he pulled open the door.

The sound was slightly muffled but Alex could hear the scrapping of the chair on the floor as Wolf pulled the chair out to sit. The man opposite, probably in his mid-thirties, had his hands nervously going up and down over each other, dragging the chains with a scratching noise across the metal table.

"So you want to confess," Wolf began.

"I did already," The man said, "I committed the crime, there's nothing more to it. Just throw me in jail already."

"But one of my officers said something different," Wolf glanced at the mirror pointedly. The man did too, "Something about a strange man at dock."

"Can I, can I talk to him? The officer I mean," The man said nervously, his hands moving faster and more shakily, "Please?"

"If you confess, I will. If you don't," Wolf smiled without humor, "No chance at all, my friend."

"I will but only to your officer," The man said, his voice trembling with fear despite his determined stance.

Wolf paused for a moment before nodding to Alex's general direction behind the mirror as an invitation to come in. Alex pulled the door open, strode in, and shut it quietly behind him, "I'm Officer Mayford."

"Got a notepad, Mayford?" Wolf said, his eyes never leaving the man's face.

"Yessir," Alex said, pulling out one from his front pocket. Ian had told him to never go anywhere without one. It was important to record things as he went along.

"Now start confessing," Wolf crossed his arms and sat back in the chair, "And Mayford I want a recording of this too."

"Yessir," Alex sighed as he tapped the end of his pen. The multipurpose pen, courtesy of Tom's thieving skills, came in handy every now and then, "Please start with your name and age."

"Benjamin Crawford, thirty-four," Ha, he was spot on about the age, Alex thought with a smile as he recorded the information down on the paper, "I was walking toward the dock yesterday night, I like docks and seas at dusk it's always peaceful and the ocean smells nice an-"

"Please continue and cut the crap," Wolf wasn't in the mood apparently.

"Right right," The man mopped his forehead with the back of his hand that Alex noticed was beginning to sweat profoundly, "And then this man, this cloaked man, appeared."

"What was he wearing?" Wolf questioned.

"Black, all black. He was wearing a mask and a cowl too," The man said then nodded to himself as if in confirmation, "And then, he was chasing this other guy."

"Describe him."

"I don't know, brown hair? I don't really remember but I know he's dead now," Benjamin said, nodding again nervously, "And, and then, the strange man just pulled out a gun and shot the man he was chasing. He just shot him, right in the open. There was no one else around, but it was so loud. And then, the man just fell to the ground. I think he was hit on the back of the head, but I'm not sure. I think he's dead because the strange man just goes and checked on him. With a finger to his neck and, and then, he just stood up and turned toward me. I was so scared. I remember thinking that the man was a serial killer and I was going to die."

"You said he touched his finger to the dead man's neck," Wolf leaned forward.

"Yes," The man bobbed his head nervously, his eyes skirting toward Alex for a few times and it didn't go unnoticed by Wolf who turned to look at Alex as if he was an accomplice.

Alex raised an eyebrow and shrugged with confusion, "I've no idea why he's looking at me like that."

"Why're you looking at Officer Mayford?" Wolf questioned.

"The strange man," Benjamin said, "Said he wanted me to give a message to him."

Another questioning look from Wolf made Alex shrugged again, "I don't know what he's talking about."

"What's the message?" Wolf asked.

"He," The man jerked his head toward Alex, "is in danger."

"That's it?" Wolf sounded unconvinced and skeptical.

"And another word," The man added, "Bunkhouse."

"Does the word Bunkhouse mean anything to you, Mayford?" Wolf asked carefully, turning to face Alex.

Alex frowned then shook his head, "No."

"We're going to have a conversation after this," Wolf said to Alex, narrowing his eyes before turning back to Benjamin, "Please, continue where you left off."

"The man shows me a photograph," Benjamin nodded, "It was his. And then after he told me the message, someone hit me over the back of my head."

The man sounded visibly less stressed but Alex could still hear the tenseness in his voice.

"And then when I woke up, the gun was in my hand and I was next to the dead man."

"I think we're finished here," Wolf stood up, "I'll have another officer sort you out, Mr. Crawford."

"Thank you, thank you," The man was of pure relieve, "God bless."

Wolf grabbed Alex by the back of his collar and pulled him out of the door, shutting it tightly behind him, and marched him to an adjacent waiting room, "Now, start speaking."

"About what?" Alex crossed his arms.

"Do you know the man?" Wolf asked.

"No."

"Do you have any idea who the 'strange man' might be?" Wolf pressed, his eyes zeroing on him like a hawk on a rabbit. Though Alex preferred to think of himself as a wolfdog, like the one missing.

"No," Alex said, shrugging slightly, "If you're thinking that I'm an accomplice, you are wrong."

Wolf fell silent for a moment before he continued, "Do you really have no idea what the word Bunkhouse means?"

Alex really thought it over. Bunkhouse. Sure, he'd heard of the word bunk and the word house, but rarely if ever together. It was as if it was a name instead of merely a word with definition, "No, I really don't."

Wolf grunted then sighed, "This man might be after you, warning you that you'll be his next target."

"Or he could be warning about potential dangers, not from him," Alex muttered, "Look, sir, I really have no idea what any of these are."

Wolf looked unconvinced for a moment, "And if I believe you, what'll you do?"

Alex pursed his lips, "I don't know, do my normal job like a normal person?"

"You're just barely fresh out of university," Wolf said, glancing at him with questions burning but not clear enough to be phrase into an askable question, "I don't believe that you'd be able to get tangled into something horribly disastrous like this."

Oh boy, how wrong the man was.

"We might have some leads on the dead man and the real culprit," Wolf said, jerking his head toward the exit, "Until then, keep your head low and stay out of trouble."

"That man," Alex said as Wolf began walking out the door, "Benjamin Crawford, might not be telling the truth."

"We have security tapes," Wolf glanced at him for a second before going up the stairs, "It's exactly as he said."

"Then why did he not confess any earlier?" Alex questioned, "He could've been free earlier if he'd confessed."

"That's a great million-dollar question," Wolf replied, "We suspect someone's pressuring him, forcing him to not speak. That was our guess until you show up."

"So you're saying someone's forcing him to not confess until I show up?"

"My guess," Wolf nodded as they headed toward Alex's desk, "And until we can figure out the relationship between you and the culprit, I hope you can keep your head cool and at any suspicious activities, reports in."

"Yessir."

"Good," Wolf said, patting him on the shoulder, "I want that report done in two hours, Mayford. Good day."

So much for the protégé feeling, Alex grunted as he sat down.

* * *

"I know, Tom," Alex sighed exasperatedly, "We don't have a lot of time, I know that. But I thought you said you don't want Mayford to be fired?"

"Mayford!" Wolf called from the car, "Hurry the hell up!"

"Coming!" Alex replied from the steps outside the police station before going back to his phone.

"Yeah, but the job is our priority, mate," Tom insisted, "We've almost everything figured out."

"Just this one Mayford run," Alex said, "I actually like where we're going. I mean, I have to act like a police, right? I can't just go absent all the time."

"Then get yourself on patrol assignment," James butted in, "Then you can drive anywhere you want without being suspected."

"What the _fuck_ are you doing, Mayford?" Wolf was impatient as the commander rolled down his window.

"Gotta go," Alex hurriedly said before turning to Wolf, "Nothing, just an enthusiastic friend that's all."

Wolf hmphed as Alex pulled open the car door and got into the shotgun, "You're on duty if you need a reminder."

"Yessir," Alex replied dutifully just as his phone beeped in a signal of a message.

It was from Tom. _Hey Al, you free?_

 _No._ Alex replied as Wolf gave a disapproving glance, "Mayford if that's personal business again, you'll never see that phone again."

"You cannot do that, sir," Alex said.

 _Fine bt wve got smthng rlly imptant. Get back ASAP when ur done._

Alex frowned. It sounded serious. _K_

"Mayford?"

"Putting it away right now, sir," Alex said as he stowed the phone into his jacket pocket.

"Now," Wolf began as he turned the corner, "As your first real assignment, much more than the tagalong you're doing with Unit Six, pay every attention to what I'm doing."

"It's just interviewing the owner of a wolfdog, sir," Alex said, glancing at the man in confusion.

"This is my community, our community," Wolf insisted, "Everything must be kept in order and with a wolfdog on loose, it's not. Besides, it's also a concern of a citizen and therefore we must take care of it."

"What about that gang?" Alex questioned, "Wouldn't you be more suitable for a gang raid?"

"You're right," Wolf smiled without humor, "But it's not suitable for young graduates like you."

"But I was this close," Alex pressed his fingers together, "To catching that parkour boy."

"And you were also that close in losing your job," Wolf shot back, "How's the bruise?"

"Hardly hurting," Alex replied.

"You discharged your weapon without permission," Wolf continued, "You're lucky that your firearms aren't confiscated."

Alex fingered the handle of his pistol strapped to his waistband. It was police issued and Tom had nearly freaked out when Alex had casually thrown it before him onto the blankets, screeching and screaming his head off about the end of the world. It was lucky that they were at Tom's house and his parents were out. Their neighbors had long ago given up on restraining their mental states.

"Right," Alex sighed, "Wolfdog it is."

He liked the hybrids. His father used to have one. The hybrid kind of reminded him of himself. Cool and majestic. Tom and James had said unison to stop being so narcissistic when he told them that.

* * *

A.N.: Okay, yeah, major apologies for starting another story without completing the other two but I just really needed to get this out! This will be a multi-chapter story and every name you recognize here are from the book. For example, Scorpia is Scorpia from the book but a little different and Alex's father is John Rider. This is an AU in which Alex has never met Scorpia, MI6 or has any contact at all with the espionage world. Wolf is not a soldier, Ian is not dead, John's not dead, and Alex never knew Jack or Sabina. I'm really just using the character names and their traits but everything else's somewhat different.

Or, if you want, this is basically a story in which MI6 did not recruit Alex in the beginning.

Hopefully, everything will be explained as the story progresses!


	3. Get Bullshitted

"What is it?" Alex asked as he walked through the door and threw his coat down onto the sofa, loosening his tie and let it drag down like a loose thread, "Was it that important to drag me out of the police station?"

Luckily he had not been intercepted by Wolf on the way out. The man had disappeared into his cubicle upon returning from the wolfdog trip to file some sort of papers. Alex had no idea and he didn't want to have any idea on any more paperwork. He was so done for the day.

"Yeah," James replied as Tom tapped away on the computer, "Remember that bank we're going to break enter?"

There were times when Alex would reel back in shock at the casualty and nonchalance James had thrown at him, perhaps when he was still six, but these days, Nah. It was as casual and every day as the phrase 'remember that time when Tom put cinnamon instead of coffee powder to make coffee?'.

"Royal and General or something like that," Alex nodded as he walked into the kitchen and poured himself a cup of coffee from the coffee maker. He'd smell the aroma as soon as he entered the house. Nothing beat a cup of coffee after a long day with wolfdog owner, "Go on."

"Didn't your dad work there?" James asked, looking at him upside down as he laid his head on the back of the sofa and peered at Alex who was behind him.

Alex frowned as he went to the sofa and sat down opposite. It was soft and plushy and he found himself sinking back like a sack of couch potatoes. Oh, the joy, "He might have mentioned a bank, but I don't which for sure. Never really questioned his occupation until just recently." Recently, as in the last two minutes. No, really just the last forty seconds.

"Oh hell, Al," James rolled his eyes, "You've been living with your dad for like, sixteen years, but you're clueless about something as silly as this. What are you, Clueless Bond?"

"Like I said," Alex took a sip of his coffee, "Mayford's Bond, I'm not. I'm the tree."

"Fine, Clueless Tree," James snapped his finger as if it was the most ingenious idea he'd ever thought of. It might actually be, but out of Alex's kind-hearted soul, he wasn't going to voice his thought out loud.

Tom hummed and it got their attention, "I don't have him on the employee database, or anywhere on the record."

"Then he might be working somewhere else," Alex said, shrugging easily as he downed the rest of his coffee, "Like some other downtown bank."

"Hmm, don't think so. Here, I've got something," Tom said as he bingo-ed the enter key, beckoning Alex to join them on their side of the sofa. Alex got up with a reluctant sigh. He was just about to relax and be a couch potato. Tom had a picture pulled up. Ian was in it as well as his father. The two of them, along with a group of others, were standing floating in midair on a badly PS background of a mountain.

"What is this?" Alex questioned at the hideousity of the image. The photoshop job done to the image was as hideous as the word 'hideousity'. He was pretty sure that wasn't a word existing in the dictionary. That was, the real dictionary and not his Rider's Encyclopedia.

Tom clicked on the black space around the picture and that brought them back to a post in a group chat. The post was dated almost a year ago and that seemed to be the last post in the chat, "Where are you?"

"In some sort of chat in the bank," Tom said as he clicked on the image again, "Look, you can see that this's badly PS, right?"

"Yes," Alex frowned with mock thoughtfulness, "Wait no, they must have amazing power to float in the air in some…random Arabic mountain."

"This is Himalaya, Al," Tom said skeptically.

"I thought Himalaya's near Arab?"

"No," James objected, "It's near the east coast of New York."

There was a really long pause. Something seemed to be wrong with what James had said. Like _really_ wrong.

"Back to the picture," Tom said, dragging their attention back to the issue at hand, "Anyway, so I went through a few pictures on the bank social media page. It was deleted, but you know, digital footprint and all that." Tom swiftly pulled up another picture. They could immediately see that the badly PS picture came from this one. The group was standing before the Royal and General bank. The title was boldly displayed on the door of the building. It was afternoon, judging by the lighting of the picture and the way the sun was casted, goldenly, on their face.

"Let's say this really is the bank Al's dad work at," James proposed, "Why'd they want to send a message? What was the message again?"

"'Abort or he dies'," Alex replied almost instantly from his memory. The message had been his daydream for the past day. A person's life was in their hand. He couldn't just…do it. Stealing money, sure, it was just defaming him. But putting a life on the line was much more than just him. It involved someone else too and he was never going to stop blaming himself if someone dies because of this.

"Dude," Tom patted him on the back, "Lighten up, you look like the burnt cake I baked for your birthday."

There was a really long silence again, the kind of silence that was so thick you can't even cut it with a knife. Perhaps an AK47 might put some dents but that was all the legendary gun as Tom had put it would do.

"It was you!" James yelped, "Your dad was so mad and he thought I'd burned your kitchen down! Dude, you suck!"

"Chill, mate," Tom chuckled nervously like a Tom-sel in distress, "Chill. Okay, so the message. Do you think the 'he' might be your dad?"

Alex winced, "Then what do they meant by 'abort'?"

"Stop some sort of thing," Tom offered.

"Thanks Tom," Alex rolled his eyes, "If I needed definition, I'd have asked."

"You're welcome," His friend replied brightly.

"By abort," Alex said slowly, "They might mean, like, stop something that's making them, Scorpia, nervous. I don't know. I mean, this's basically threatening. You know when someone holds a gun to your head and make hostage. They want something. In this case, they want this bank to abort. I mean, it can be anything really. Like stop having dealt with some other company, but why'd Scorpia care about deals, really? They have all the money they need."

"Maybe a client' request?" Tom suggested, "Scorpia told us they're client-servers."

"Yeah, maybe," Alex frowned, running a hand through his hair. He breathed in then exhaled softly, "Okay, let's say the 'he' is my dad. Then this has something to do with his job, doesn't it?"

"Why would Scorpia take captive your dad, a businessman?" Tom said.

And that was when they realized something. They had never questioned that before.

Alex felt excited. This was something. They were _onto_ something. If they dig deeper, they might find something about Scorpia, their jobs, and missions. The question might lead to something larger if they could find the answer to it.

"Debt?" James threw it out.

"No," Alex shook his head, his eyes brightened with curiosity and excitement that Tom and James knew were the first sign of something really stupid or really intelligent, "If it was debt, they wouldn't say 'abort'. They'd demand the money. No, they're saying to stop doing something or he dies."

Tom was beginning to catch onto Alex's messy logics, "So if we find out what your father's relationship is with Scorpia, we might find something."

"Okay, okay," Alex said, lacing his fingers before him, "So why-"

"No, Al," Tom said, "You're not Sherlock, don't do that."

"Can't you see? We're onto something," Alex said, glancing at his friend.

"No, I don't mean that. I mean your hands," Tom said, gesturing at his hands wildly. They were, unconsciously, in a praying gesture before his face and touching part of his nose, his lips, and his jawline. Much like Sherlock did in the show.

"I like Sherlock," Alex felt dignified to say that as he slowly dropped his hands.

"Yes, but that'd make me Watson," Tom said, "And I don't do the whole Sherlock tag-along shenanigans. I'm Tom the Great Hacker, not John Watson the Sherlock tag-along."

"Don't insult Watson," James cried in defense for the sidekick of Sherlock, "He's amazing!"

"He doesn't do cartwheels," Tom pulled out his hand and began his sin counter of everything-wrong-with-John-Watson, "He gets in danger every two seconds. He doesn't solve crimes, it's just Sherlock an-"

"But Sherlock said Watson's the light to his ideas," James interrupted him, "And Watson's simply so cool! He's an army doctor and he likes pulling ranks!"

"That's bossy," Tom retorted back, "You've gotta be an honest person and live your life like an honest person without pulling ranks."

"Yet you're hacking into their database right now," Alex muttered unhelpfully, "Very _honest_ , mate."

"Oh, you know what?" Tom gave up, "James, you go be Mr. Sherlock's Watson and I'll sit here and be the amazing Tom the Great Hacker."

With the speed they were doing things, Alex had to question how the previous robberies were done so efficiently and fast.

But he liked Sherlock.

* * *

"Wolfdog is," Alex muttered as he typed, "essentially the best animal and pet that a person can ever have."

"They are smart, intelligent, and wise," Alex jumped as he heard Wolf speaking behind him. He hadn't heard that man coming. Maybe that man was a wolfdog too. Wolf, wolfdog. Alex believed he was sensing the correlation here, "Good morning, sir."

"First of all," Wolf stared down at him, "Smart, intelligent, and wise are all synonyms. Second of all, this is a police report, not your grade school diary, Mayford."

Alex crossed his eyes. He felt unjustified, "I like wolfdogs."

"In the same way that I like you to _shut up_ and backspace all of that _crap_ you wrote," Wolf wasn't amused.

Alex rolled his eyes. Someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed, "Sure thing, Commander."

Wolf glanced at the clock then back at Alex with a raised eyebrow, "How long you been here?"

"Two hours. About," Alex glanced at the clock, "Why?"

"It's barely seven," Wolf commented as he took a sip of his coffee, letting the heat and aroma float out of the cup, "I call bullshit."

"Uh-uh," Alex shook his head with a grin, "You can't call bullshit on the truth, sir. Or else _you_ get bullshitted."

"Why did you come so early?" Wolf questioned, setting his coffee down and began absently leafing through the pile of paper on Alex's desk that marked his job for the rest of the day, "You don't strike me as a hardworking type."

"I'm hurt, sir," Alex pressed his hands to his heart in sat back in the chair, "I feel wounded."

Wolf gave him a skeptical glance over the papers, "Why did you come so early?"

Alex didn't feel like telling the man that he was actually here to find the locations of security cameras around the bank. It wasn't like he wasn't willing, oh he was so willing to do it just to watch Wolf's reaction. But no, he needed to keep his parkour business a police-off-limits thing. You know, like a normal criminal would do really, "Got nowhere to go, mate."

Partial truth. Tom had kicked him out of his house at bloody four in the morning to find out about the cameras before the big bad commander could come to work. Wolf wasn't part of the nightshift officers so he had a window till about six thirty to work without much caution.

"I call bullshit on that," Great, the commander had a sense of humor.

"It's not complete bullshit," Alex shook his head as he straightened and selected the paragraph he had written before ctrl-x them. He wasn't going to throw completely good and great English 'crap' out, "It's just the bull part."

"Oh yeah?"

"Like partial truths," Alex explained as he began to start anew, "Partial as in just half-truths. So hence 'bull'."

Wolf hmphed in slight amusement as he set the papers down, "So what was the truth in the statement?"

Alex chose not to reply. He got official police business to take care of thank you very much. Thinking it through, Alex realized that that was the best excuses he had come up with in a while. A plus on creativity and improvisations.

"Right, good work," Wolf grunted as he raised his cup and took a sip, "You said you want to do the gang raid?"

Alex perked up in interest, his hand pausing in midsentence, "What?"

"The gang," Wolf said, glancing at him over the rim of his cup as he took another sip. The coffee cup was nearly empty judging by the degree the cup was turned, "You said you wanted to investigate on that instead of wolfdog."

Alex shrugged, "I like wolfdogs in the end, so not really the 'instead' part. But yeah, I like actions."

"This isn't a movie, kid."

"Man," Alex corrected the commander, "It's not kid. It's man. M-A-N man."

Wolf ignored his snarky comment, "Meet me in the gun range in half an hour."

"Why?" Alex tensed. Guns. There was a reason why guns and he didn't necessarily go together that well. Bad experiences. Really bad experiences. How would Tom put it? Oh right, it was black, bad and stinky like James' socks.

"You'll need lessons on how to shoot if you want to be part of real action," Wolf replied seriously, waiting for his opinion.

"I'm part of Unit Six," Alex objected, "I know how to shoot."

"Have it your way," Wolf shrugged indifferently as he began walking away, "Good work, Mayford."

"Thanks."

* * *

No matter how much Alex told himself it wasn't good, he found himself walking down to the gun range like an irresponsible child. There were two other officers present shooting their heart out in a competition. Damn, how much he hated the sound.

Walking past, he saw the cardboard targets.

He saw the little boy. A single shot sending him reeling back. Blood. Perfect accuracy.

 _Dead_.

C'mon, think of marshmallows. Alex pulled his mind away. Big white fluffy marshmallows, much larger than jumbo size. Like cloud _mega_ large size. Big and large enough to suffocate Tom. Okay, that was a little too far.

Alex watched himself walk down the ranges to the last one nearest to the end. Goggles, right. Safety precautions. He found himself putting them on. There were ear mufflers for the sound on the side but his hands unwilling to go toward them. Like magnetics when you placed them on the wrong end and they just wouldn't stick, landing him an F in science instantly when his project fell apart by the opposing force.

Alex unclipped his gun by his holster and raised it, aiming straight at the target. No, he didn't want a human figure. He switched the target to the typical cliché circular one and aimed once again. The target was round, like the boy's head.

"God, stop being so cliché and stupid," Alex muttered softly. Two other guns went off from the other occupants of the room as if they were urging him to shoot.

If his gun had moved perhaps a centimeter to the right, the boy wouldn't have died. Shifting consciously, his gun moved and he fired. Clipping right to the edge, it left a half round circle before ripping through the edge. No, that part of the brain would draw a lot of blood. The boy would still die instantly.

His next shot hit the top, brushing past the head and leaving an almost identical small half-circle in its exit. No, a little up. The shot was clipping the head a little too much. It would break the skull at the current angle and elevation.

He could see the boy standing there, having just run out of the hallway and was panting from exertion. He could see his hand, the gun, pointing toward the boy's unprotected back. No, nononono.

A sudden gun next to him made him freeze. Time seemed to slow down, a cliché phrase used in so many movies and books, as he took note of the gun in the outstretched arm pointing toward the boy. No! They couldn't kill the boy. No, he wouldn't allow it.

With an enraged growl, he threw himself sideways against the newcomer who had pointed his gun at the boy, his own gun flying to his left hand and he held it against the man's neck as he pushed them both to the ground. A shot went off but not from his gun. It rocketed around the hard metal wall and must have rebounded because he felt something whizzed past his head.

"Mayford!"

Blinking his eyes clear, he took in the commander's surprised feature, "What the fuck are you doing, Mayford?"

Alex finally took note of his position. He had his foot on the man's gun arm, the other on the ground supporting. One of his hands were curled around the man's perfectly tied tie dragging him semi-upward and the other holding a gun to the commander's unprotected and exposed neck.

Oh great, he was so fucked up.

"Sorry, um, thought you're a marshmallow," Alex holstered his gun and stood up sheepishly, putting his award-winning smile on, "You took me by surprise."

"You alright, sir?" One of the occupants called out, his gun slowly lowering as the surprise situation registered.

"Yeah, yeah," Wolf grunted and grabbed Alex's proffered hand to pull himself up, "Go back to shooting your ducks."

They laughed but turned back nonetheless.

"The hell was that?" Wolf demanded as he grabbed him by the collar and pulled him back to the last shooting station, hidden from the other two occupants.

Alex shrugged, "Sorry, instincts. I'm kinda paranoid."

Wolf snorted as he put on a goggle and pulled the muffler over his ears before taking his first shot. It went straight to the center, "Oh yeah?"

Alex felt sick suddenly. Not having-a-cold sick, it was like Tom-sickness. The kind of sickness that made you run away but this time it was not because of James' socks.

"Hey, where you going?" Wolf called as Alex threw down his goggles a little harder than needed.

"Gonna finish my wolfdog report," Alex dragged a hand through his hair with a sarcastic smile, "You know, wolfdogs. I like 'em. Yeah?"

Turning back without waiting for a reply, Alex pulled out his phone and dialed Tom, "Al?"

"I fucked up, mate. I'm so fucked."

* * *

"He's locked himself in there for the past two hours, what should we do?"

"I don't know, mate. What happened?"

"Apparently he shot the commander."

"Jesus Christ!"

Alex groaned and pushed himself off the bed before pulling his door open. Tom and James stood outside with an awkward smile at being caught, "Hey Al."

"I did not shoot the commander," Alex felt the need to explain himself, "I _nearly_ shot the commander."

"But you shot him mentally."

"No, I did not," Alex retorted back.

Tom was already making his way downstairs, "Hey Al, wanna join us for a call?"

"A call?" Alex asked, puzzled.

"I want to call for pizza," Tom nodded.

"You don't need my help to order pizza, Tom," Alex said skeptically, "Unless you're four."

"Oh so on top of being a Sherlock," Tom rolled his eyes, "You want to be Mr. Stupid-Bossy-Bro too? No, it's not that simple. We're prank-calling to the police station."

Alex gave him a very stern look. As stern as he could master though he supposed he failed because it had no effect on Tom. Or maybe Tom was used to him throwing death glares. No, silly, what was he saying? He meant stern serious glares instead of death glares. Like sweet Jesus, why would he want to throw _death glares_ at his best mates?

"So you in?" James asked excitedly.

Alex knew what they were doing.

"Yeah, I hope Wolf's there to pick it up," Alex chuckled as he stepped outside and closed his bedroom door, "But we're going to get pizza after, right?"

"I want Chinese takeaways," James whined, "I like fried ducks."

"Sure," Tom shrugged, "But we're not getting the soy sauce." He shuddered dramatically, "I was stuck in the toilet for a whole hour."

"I bet you were on your phone with your imaginary tinder date girlfriend," James jeered.

"No soy sauce or we're going for pizza."

"Fine, no soy sauce."

They skipped downstairs and lounged around the sofa. Tom gave Alex's a cup of coffee and to Alex's raised eyebrow, he added heatedly, "What? It's a show of friendship."

"I hope there's no cinnamon in this," Alex replied.

"Oh shuddup, just drink it," Tom slapped him in the back with a pillow, nearly sending his cup flying, "Oops, sorry."

"Not my fault that you mistake cinnamon for coffee powder last time," Alex chuckled.

James held a finger to his lips to shush Tom's dignified reply as he dialed.

"North Highland Police Department, how may we help you?" A pleasant male voice picked up before the first ring even fully resonated.

"Do you know someone by the name of Wolf Lestrade?" Tom spoke in his lowest tone just as James hit the speaker button. The reply was loud and clear in the living room, "May I ask what you want?"

"I want to speak to him," Tom continued his darker-than-Darth-Vader voice.

There was a pause and a fumbling in the transition of owners, "I'm Commander Wolf Lestrade."

Tom was giddy like a two years old. Actually, Tom was always like that. The correct way would be Tom was giddy like a giddy Tom, "I'd like to order a pizza. Large Combo please."

"Excuse me, do you know who you're calling?" Wolf sounded irritated.

"Are you not the HeartPizza?" Tom asked, his voice sounded almost innocently naïve. Alex had to give it to Tom, "I want my pizza immediately."

"I have enough of you kids prank calling," Alex could almost sense Wolf ready to slam the phone down. He crossed to James and grabbed the phone out of Tom's protesting grip.

"Hey Commander," Alex said quietly.

A pause.

"Mayford?"

James and Tom snorted in the background and Alex shushed them with two pillows flying accurately to their face in split seconds, "Yup, the one and only."

"You left early," Wolf said, his voice getting cut off in the living room as Alex canceled the speaker. Tom and James pouted at being left out but they gave him his space.

"Yeah, um," Alex grimaced as he ran a hand through his hair, "Sorry about today."

"No problem," Wolf said before pausing and then adding, "Yes, actually, I have a problem."

Alex chuckled, "You just said there was no problem."

"And I'm calling bullshit on that," Wolf retorted, "Listen, I'm just about to leave office so let's talk tomorrow."

Alex frowned. That might actually be impossible. See, he was planning the bank break-in tomorrow and he wasn't exactly supposed to tell Wolf straight out. He had planned to call in sick tomorrow.

"Uh, I'm traveling tomorrow," Alex said, his eyes scaling up the magazine next to the coffee table. It was some traveling advertisement to Paris. If Tom had put some gun magazine, he probably would have said something along the line of going to a gun dealer tomorrow. Alex shuddered. His creativity astounded even him sometimes.

There was an awkward pause, "Traveling?" Now, was that incredulous he heard in the commander's voice?

"Yeah, to see a friend," Now that was the bullest shit he'd ever invented for the duration of the day. His friend circle was consist of his two best friend-in-crime. If people ever go on Facebook and look at his friend circles, they'd see perhaps no one because Tom said he didn't want any digital trails and James said he'd rather spend his time on Tinder getting repeatedly rejected and dumped then getting stalked by so-called friends and followers on Facebook.

"Right," He could hear the sigh, "Then the day after tomorrow?"

"It's Saturday," Alex stated.

"Yes, and the day after that's Sunday," Wolf said exasperatedly, "What, do you not work on Saturday? This isn't school anymore, _kid_."

"It's _man_ ," Alex said, his eyebrow arching even though he knew there was no one-except the peeping Tom and James-, "Not kid."

"And it's _sir_ from you to me," Wolf said immediately. Damn, that man's got some nice comebacks. Alex needed to buy that snarky comment 101 book Tom had introduced him a few days ago.

"Yeah, okay," Alex exhaled loudly as if he had been holding his breath for a long time. Like an hour or something. No wait, he would be dead if that was the case. Perhaps it was like breathing through a large mega size marshmallow. He would like to try that, "Saturday."

"'Night, Mayford," Wolf said finally then added, "And if you prank call again, I'll get you fire faster than you can say bullshit."

"Bullshit," Alex grinned, "Night, sir."

Now that was some even buller shit he'd heard.


	4. The Horrors Of It All

"Alright, Al," Tom said, his voice crisp over the earpiece, "Remember, act normal. Ask about your dad like a worried child would do and just act normal. Do you remember which floor the message's supposed to go?"

"Yes Tom," Alex sighed as he pulled his jacket close and lowered the rim of his cap. It gave him the pretense of a teen with the cap but the cap also gave him cover from overhead security cameras that Tom might've missed, "Fifth-floor fifth door to the right. Stop being a mother hen, mate."

Besides the few around the front desk and staircases and elevators, the rest were all overhead. Alex was very glad that the police had records of all those, strange since a bank was a rather private property in a sense. Well, he wasn't going to whine, no hell no. He might even bring a fruit basket to the computer database next time. You know, a show of gratitude and all that.

"'Kay, just checkin'," Tom muttered, "James you ready?"

"Ready as ever," James chuckled. James' job was to create a diversion in the security room, draw the attention to him as Tom switch the security footage. The control room was just behind the front desk, as Tom had discovered, hidden behind a carefully-built door that blended into its surrounding walls. If James were to act like he had rabies and madly create chaos by rushing toward the door, that'd be very hard to not focus on. They'd just leave the cameras in the lobby on but the rest will be swapped and switched with old footages. It would buy them about five minutes at the minimum. Banks weren't stupid after all.

At least Alex hoped they weren't that stupid or else he might never consider making a deposit.

"Don't screw up, James," Alex smiled as he clapped his best-friend-in-crime on the back and strode cautiously but full of confidence of a teen his age into the bank. They had chosen to do the job in the morning because of the lack of people and security in the bank. Besides, a worried child like him wouldn't possibly want to venture out at night where he could be innocently captured and taken away in a similar way that his dad might have been.

"Same to you, Al," James called from behind him as they made their way to the front desk.

"How may I help you?" The man asked, his face devoid of any friendliness or customer service. Nice bank.

"I, uh," Alex attempted his best teen voice, "I haven't seen my dad since last time he said he was going on a business trip. I was wondering if y-"

"Are you perhaps Alex Rider?" The man interrupted him with a question while pulling up a slip of paper from beneath the counter, "Son of John Rider?"

Alex tensed then attempted a startled smile. It wasn't hard to fake, "Um, no."

Children lied before they answer to the truth. No talking to strangers, as the adults put it.

"Right," The man had a world-weight of sarcasm in his tone as he peered at the paper then back at him as if for some sort of confirmation of his identity and Alex had the slight suspicion that if there were a picture on that paper the man was looking at, it would be his.

"Mrs. Jones is expecting you," The man replied nonchalantly as he pulled up the phone and dialed a number. It picked up after a ring, "He's here."

"Yes, right away ma'am."

Now that was not accounted for. They had been expecting him. Alex wasn't sure if he should be properly surprised or not, seeing that this was Scorpia they were talking about and any acquaintance of Scorpia was rather, well, _unique_. In a _bad_ way. Hopefully, this bank was an enemy of Scorpia. Enemy's enemy is a friend, right? Unless it was a three-way war, which would be _really_ bad.

Pretending to cough, he covered his mouth with his sleeve inconspicuously, "James, stay out."

"What?" James was surprised, "What happened?"

Alex didn't reply. He couldn't so instead he smiled.

This was challenging. Fun.

"Oh Christ, Al, we're in deep shit now that this whatever Jones is expecting you and you have time to smile?"

"Please, follow me," The man said as he exited from behind the counter and gestured toward the elevator. A second man came out from behind the door that marked security personnel and nodded toward the counterman.

"Al, should I follow you?" James asked.

Alex shook his head as if he was shaking off a fly and the man regarded him strangely before urging him into the elevator that had chimed open pleasantly. It was a one-way elevator that had mirrors on all three non-entrance side and the heater overhead warmed his freezing hands. The clear mirrors made him paranoid. More than he already was. Peering closely at the mirror, Alex regarded the counter manager. He wasn't looking at him but he could be noting his every movements out of his peripheral view.

"Al, please tell me you're not thinking of narcissistic thoughts about yourself while looking at that mirror," Tom sighed, and the sound rattled through the small earpiece by his ear, "Dude, I think you need to see a psychiatrist."

Alex rolled his eyes just as the elevator door slid open quietly and elegantly as if there was no friction between the door and the track trail on the bottom. The man led ahead and Alex followed. The floor was carpeted with generic red and golden embroiled edge carpet that stretched all the way from the elevator to the beginning of the staircase. There were two light tubes on the ceiling with an approximated two-meter interval in between and delicate circular lamps on the sidewalls in between every door. There was a minimum of ten doors on the floor, evenly splitting into five per side. They walked past the first two doors and as Alex turned to look at the wooden tags, he faltered mentally.

John Rider.

This was his father's office. The man did not stop or even look at him over his shoulder. Alex swallowed down his comment but the tag on the second door really made him tense and freeze.

Ian Rider.

Well, shit just got real. Alex carefully observed the man's actions from behind without looking at the name tags outrageously. There was no tensing of muscles on the man's face nor glances thrown over the shoulder at him. The man, unless he was a very good actor, had no idea about the meaning of these name tags to him.

That was not reassuring, to say the least.

They stopped at the third door adjacent to the first two and the man turned the knob and pushed it inward before gesturing for him to go inside, "Mrs. Jones will be with you in five minutes."

"Great customer service," Alex muttered but went inside nonetheless.

Letting customers wait was not a sign of proper customer etiquettes. The man gently closed the door behind him and Alex heard the soft click. The door wasn't locked and that for some reason gave him great comfort. Moving slowly around, he explored the interior. It was a room with typical office furniture, a bookshelf, a potted plant -fake as he realized upon feeling the leaves-, and a cup of pens and a small stack of stationery papers on the desk.

This was strange.

"What you seeing, Al?" Tom asked.

Pushing the window open to cover the noise from any potential cameras, Alex replied, "I'm in an office. Do you see that open window?"

"Yeah, I think I saw you too," Tom said while grinning. From the floor he was on, fifth if he recalled correctly, he could make out the car Tom was sitting inside. He couldn't make out Tom but he knew he was in there. They had taken the car, with the plan of returning it later, as their stake-out spot. No, they didn't steal it, they were just borrowing it for a moment. Besides, Tom's neighbors were probably still asleep. It was like, seven in the morning and the mid-thirty couple usually woke up at ten. The luxury of it all.

Alex poked his head out and glanced at the window of the room to his right. The windows were closed but squinting slightly, he could see that the latches weren't shut. Humph. God-given chance. Glancing up, he took note of the stem of the fluttering flag and the edge of the window ledge. Glancing down, he took note of his death. Great. This was a really not risky chance at all. Alex turned to look at the door. He probably had three minutes at most. Hopefully.

"Nope, Al, nope," Tom sounded like he wasn't in agreement with his plan.

"Oh buckle up, Tom," Alex replied, turning so that his back faced his death and pushed his legs onto the edge of the ledge, his hands grabbing the top of the window before pushing himself out. The first thing he felt was the chilling morning wind. He should've worn a thicker coat.

"Hell, mate," James exclaimed, nearly making him slip, "If you fall, you're gonna die."

"Thanks for the info, mate," Alex chuckled as he calculated his leap. The flag was just a tad bit higher than he'd thought. But if he pushed off with his kangaroo legs, he'd make it. Jumping for the country flag, how heroic it sounded. Damn.

Alex knew he was in an awkward position, being half out of the window and all. If that Mrs. Jones whoever it was comes in…Alex winced. Wow, that'd be hella hard to explain. Alex jumped, pushing off strong with his legs and reached out to grab the pole. His hands were over the top but barely and he clamped down on it with one hand, ready to bring the other hand around to secure the second hand-hold.

He didn't know it was wet with morning dews.

"Shit!" His hands slipped and he involuntarily let out a loud curse that would have made his father shook his head in disappointment.

"Al!" Tom and James' unison yell didn't help him concentrate.

Curling himself forward, Alex gave the wall a horizontal push with his feet and leg, propelling himself left toward the window ledge adjacent. Thank heaven godly stars that he managed to grab the minimum edge, hardening his fingers to clench to the minimum space provided while his feet searched madly, but swiftly, for a foothold. He found none.

Glancing down, he realized that the nearest one was the window top below but that was two inches further than his feet. Shit.

"Al, you still alive?" Tom asked, sounding rather concerned.

"Nah, I'm dead," Alex said as he judged the distance. He could just slip onto the ground if he made the leaps slowly. Looked like he might have to abandon this meeting with Mrs. Jones if he wanted to get out alive.

He really didn't want to explain his action. Then he heard it. Sirens. Alex glanced down and took in the police cars swarming beneath him. There were police getting out and he could see some rushing into the building in heroic manners with haste to save him from the suspending building.

Oh bloody hell, Alex groaned mentally.

"Hold on!" Someone must have brought a speaker. It was faint but he could catch it faintly drifting toward him. Alex thanked god that he was wearing a cap. It'd be rather bad if his face was caught on camera. It would be hella hard to explain that to the police department. It wasn't something he could just be like 'Hey, police mates, I was just rock-climbing the side of a bank and I happened to slip and I was just clutching to the sill when you guys arrived. Thanks for saving my life'.

Nope. Just Nope.

Alex looked down at his dangling feet then at the small outcrop. If he could _just_ go down a little bit… Alex tucked in his feet slightly so that it wouldn't hit the edge and let go of his hand-hold. The two meters distance between him and the next window breezed by fast due to his dead weight and he swore he heard Tom and James screaming like Tomsel and Jamesel in distress. His hands shot out last minute to latch onto the top of the window edge, his feet landing securely on the bottom window sill.

"I'm amazing," Alex muttered.

"I'm so gonna kill you, you narcissistic imbecile!" Tom was screeching with his rather high-pitched voice as if he had taken an extra serving of hydrogen for breakfast.

"You're still young, kid!" Some policeman yelled beneath him, "Don't fall to desperate measures! Think again! Your parents, relatives, siblings, they love you. They will-"

Oh great, now he was a suicidal kid.

The rest was drowned out by his mental voice as he tried to focus. His hands were getting sweaty and he was sure the police rescue team would be here anytime soon. And then his face would be plastered on the front of the local newspaper.

Alex shuddered. The horror of it all.

If something good turned out in the last two seconds, it was that he was in front of a window. Smashing it inward with his feet, he launched himself inward, landing in a gentle roll across the floor. A piercing scream came a moment later and Alex nearly jumped out of his skin when he realized that there was a woman in the corner. The potted plant in her hand dropped onto the uncarpeted ground and broke rather clichély like in the movies as she froze in shock, her hands still freezing in midair and her mouth opened in a giant O.

"Hey, um," Alex managed as he stood up, wobbling slightly to the door, "Nice day, yeah?"

"Y-You, you," She stuttered before resulting to another loud scream and scrambling madly to the corner.

And Alex ran like his life depended on it. In some sense, it did.

* * *

Alex was nodding off when a newspaper was thrown in his face. He jerked up at the not-so-gentle wake-up call and found himself face to face with Wolf as the newspaper slowly slipped off his face, leaving the faint trail of fresh ink and newspaper materials.

"Morning, Mayford," Wolf greeted, setting his coffee down on his table.

Alex sighed mentally. This man seemed to enjoy barging into his own personal space very much. Very much as in every day, every morning, and every time before they left the office.

"Morning, sir," Alex said as he cleared his throat and rubbed his eyes, "What's this?" He straightened the newspaper.

"The parkour kid again," Wolf said, pointing at the headline.

 _New Style: parkouring across bank walls_

Below the headline was a fuzzy picture of him dangling off the wall at the bank yesterday morning. Alex couldn't help but groan. They'd identified him as the parkour kid. Great. If someone did come out good in this, it was the fact that he learned how to climb walls more efficiently. Though Alex had to applaud them for their connecting-the-dot skills. Bank? Kid on the wall? _Bam_ , that's our parkour kid.

Wolf raised an eyebrow, "You have something to say, Mayford?"

 _Yeah, I do,_ Alex felt like saying, _I'm that kid dangling off the edge, you know? Like I'm still scarred for life and all that,_ "No, just tired."

"Traveling not your taste?" Wolf inquired, taking a sip of his routine morning coffee as Alex began scanning the large body text on the newspaper, "Thought taking a day off to see your friends would ease your mind and make you more productive."

"Bad night's sleep," Alex corrected the commander. His arm muscles were screaming and he was plagued with dreams of him being meat-paste on the ground before the bank. It was unnerving, to say the least.

"Right," Wolf shrugged then turned his attention back to the paper Alex was holding, "The thing is, the kid didn't steal anything this time."

Alex hummed, listening half-heartedly to Wolf's comments, "Yeah. Did you do fingerprint scanning?"

"What?"

"You know, like scan the window sill?" Alex said, acting like a helpful police, "The kid wasn't wearing a glove so he might have left some prints on the sill."

Wolf frowned then nodded, "Point taken."

Nah, who was Alex kidding? He'd made sure to smear the prints as soon as he heard the siren beneath him. He just hoped that there wasn't any blood trace from him smashing the window in because he swore one of the glass cut the back of his hand. It was light but it might just be enough for them to track him.

"But take a look at this," Wolf set down his coffee and pointed toward the window above. Alex squinted before he started inwardly, "There's a figure behind the window the kid's clinging to."

Alex narrowed his eyes as Wolf continued, "We thought it might be an accomplice, but he didn't help that kid up, so probably not."

Now things were getting really scary. Someone watching him but not lending a hand. Did they not notice him desperately seeking help?

Then the lightbulb lit and his eyes widened. Perhaps not as much as a saucer, but definitely the largest he had ever done for a long while.

"Oh fuck."

"What?" Wolf asked, alarmed.

It was a set-up. How could he'd been so stupid?

The whole thing was a set-up. They, whoever _they_ are, _let_ him go past the rooms, knowing that he would want to go check the other two rooms out. The curiosity of boys or whatever that study was titled. The flag wasn't coated with just morning dew, there was also oil that made it extra slippery. He had thought it was just dew water because his hands were momentarily numbed from the cold air, but it wasn't. It was too slippery to be just water and he could still feel the wet oily substance when he was clinging to the sill.

They had been testing him.

"Mayford?" Wolf questioned.

"I forgot to turn off my stove," Alex said with as much horror as he could manage.

Wolf glared at him, growling slightly, "That's rather irrelevant, don't you think?"

"Yeah, but then my roommate would be so mad," Alex said, continuing his impromptu story as he pressed his hands to the side of his face and attempted one of the best impression of the shock emoji.

Wolf grunted as he straightened and Alex handed him back the newspaper, "Honestly, you kids should be pursuing something calmer instead of police work."

"It's man, not kid," Alex glared then sighed, sinking back into his chair. It was hard and provided no comfort, "Calm, huh. You have any suggestions, boss man?"

"Like a normal desk job," Wolf suggested, ignoring the new title given.

Alex closed his eyes, "I wish."

Another slap on his head, this time lighter, made his eyes flicker open with a yelp. Alex rubbed his face and accused, "What?"

"Join me for patrol," Wolf said as he began to walk away.

"Wait, right now?" Alex sprung up from his chair.

" _Yes_."

* * *

Alex was not expecting the man at the doorsteps when he opened the door, "You're early. I haven't finished the job properly yet."

"That's fine," The man shrugged then walked toward him, leaving the front porch, "Come, walk with me."

"Yeah, right I would, Mr. Anti-Social Psychopath," Alex shot back, ready to close the door.

"What did you call me?" The man turned in question.

"Anti-Social Psychopath."

He snorted than began to chuckle. It abruptly turned into a full-blown laughter. Alex grimaced. What was so funny?

"Well well, Alex," The man shook his head in amusement, "Not every 'evil' person, as you youngsters like to put it, are psychopaths. And nor are they always anti-social. Please don't assume that onto me."

"But you're emo," Alex shrugged as if that explained everything.

"Now that you mentioned it," The man said, beckoning him forward, "I haven't properly introduced myself. Please call me Fletcher."

"Okay," Alex crossed his arms as he closed the door behind him, leaving Tom and James safely in the house, and strode to the man slowly, "Alex Rider, pleasure to meet you."

"Now, walk with me. Don't make me have to make you," The man said invitingly as he began walking down the sidewalk.

Alex joined him a moment later, jogging slightly to catch up the short distance between them, "What do you want to talk about?"

The man threw him a heavy black bag, "That's for you. For completing your assignment."

"But I didn't drop the message off," Alex frowned as he unzipped the bag and inhaled sharply, "Holy…"

"They got it all right, the message I mean," Fletcher said as Alex roughly counted the amount of cash in the bag, "That's five hundred grand. The amount you stole from the banks."

"Why? Why are you giving me the money?" Alex demanded.

"It's a reward," The man said and began to turn back as they reached the cross intersection, "You can decide what to do with it but I suppose you don't want to be seen as a major criminal."

"What do you mean?"

"Alex, Alex," The man sighed and spoke rather patronizing, "You're a bit slow sometimes. Now, if you give this money back to the bank, you'd be seen as a heist thief instead of a serious thief."

"What's the difference?" Alex arched an eyebrow sardonically.

"It clears your name," Fletcher said with an amused smile, "And you can sit back and enjoy this game more."

"This is a game to you?" Alex narrowed his eyes, "Stealing all these just so you can get some sort of petty revenge on me or something."

"Relax," The man said, giving him a reassuring smile, "Don't worry. It's not revenge on you. Let's say, it's a small game and you are our pawn."

"Who is your opponent then?" Alex demanded.

Fletcher was delighted, "You caught on very fast this time, Alex. Though the opponent, why, you might know already."

Alex didn't need to guess to know, "The Royal and General bank."

"Correct."

"Enemy's enemy is a friend," Alex stated as he zipped the bag closed, "How'd you know I'm not going to join them?"

Fletcher pulled open his coat pocket and handed him a CD encased in a plastic container, "If you watch this, you will know why we're so confident."

"What is it?" Alex took it gingerly, hoping against hopes that it wouldn't explode in his face. It didn't, but that didn't make him feel better. He was accepting candies from people he knew were black and white downright evil. His pure innocent soul was slowly turning dark. Oh, the horrors.

"If you have any questions upon watching this video," Fletcher pulled out a card and tucked it politely into the seams of the disk, "Call me and I'll arrange a meeting."

"Yeah, right I will," Alex snorted as he pocketed the disk, "If that's all?"

"Cheers," Fletcher smiled almost genuinely and shooed him, "Now, be on your way."

Alex didn't need to be told twice, "Pleasures, Mr. Fletcher."

"Oh by the way," Fletcher called out when he was a few meters away. Alex turned just in time to catch Fletcher's comment, "Don't watch that at night. Bright day light, preferably high noon, would be the best time."

* * *

A.N. Update was a little late this time. Ran into life problems but hopefully I will resume regular update, like once every two days or something, soon. I will still be updating TPB but that would be slower as I sort things out.


	5. She?

The police station was in a flurry of activities. It was an automatic uproar this morning when a wooden crate full of money, the exact sum of five hundred grand, arrived on the doorsteps of the station, delivered by a poor innocent delivery man who was interrogated for half an hour before the police declared him no more than a delivery man. Alex felt sorry for that mailman, seeing that he himself was the one who had dropped the crate to be delivered. Of course, if anyone asked if he was ever in the post office, they'd fail to find a lead, seeing that Alex had dropped the crate off at the dead of the night when the post office was still closed and normal _sane_ people still asleep in their warm cocoon.

"Mayford," The commander snapped as he was making his way into his office, pausing to take in Alex's relaxed manner before his desk, "Don't just sit there and idle, find something to do."

"I don't have anything to do, sir," Alex said then grimaced at the look of irritation and exasperation on Wolf's face. The man had enough to do already with the crate being the center of his attention.

"Fine," Wolf came over, slapping a file on his desk, "Remember that man, Benjamin Crawford?"

"Yeah?" Alex leaned forward, accepting the file and tidying up the papers that had flown out of the folder by the unnecessary force.

"He's been killed. Came in about half an hour ago at the Eastland intersection," Wolf told him, "You're on."

"But I don't ha-" Alex started. He had no idea how to be a police, much less a detective on a real police case.

Wolf didn't want to hear his objections, "Follow the orders, Mayford. Dismissed."

"Sir," Alex grunted his acceptance as Wolf turned and left, walking briskly back to his office and engaging in conversation with the other police about tracing the crate back.

Wolf had shown him his police car in case he ever needed it. It was a typical issue car with regular police radios and headlights. Alex grabbed the keys from the drawers and pulled his coat over his suit. Perhaps lying a low while they investigate deeper into the crate would be wise. Hopefully, he hadn't left any fingerprint or other stuff like that on the crate. Hopefully, Alex grimaced, he didn't accidentally leave James' sock in there. The crate was James' old one used to store his unused clothing. James wasn't exactly in the best mood when Alex suggested taking the crate though Tom said Alex might have been a little too harsh with donating all the clothes inside to charity. Damn, he better make up with James or he might get lost in the city without his mate's map skills.

Eastland intersection wasn't just merely an intersection, it was a place where bodies mysteriously got dumped, a place where police came to collect bodies or find missing persons. It was usually dead at the night when bodies were dragged and dumped, leaving no trails. Of course, dumping the bodies would leave to police investigation but there were numerous cases where the John Doe remained John Doe—no one stepped forward to claim them. Creepy as hell. Tom once said that the place was for suicidal weird people as well. If they have a bit of heart remaining in them, they probably don't want to stain the carpet of their house so they'd come here and kill themselves.

"Harry Mayford," Alex said as he got off the car to an approaching officer. The intersection was sectioned off with generic black letters on yellow tape from all four directions and there were police holding off the brave-enough civilians who had come close to see the commotion. Alex didn't get why they would want to do it anyways. They should have enough common sense to know that people die here with all the examples before, "Police."

"They sent a new cadet for this?" The officer asked, incredulous.

Alex might have seen that man sometime around the office and the man him, but he was sure the man wasn't worth his attention. Ouch, that would sting if Alex had spoken that out loud, "Yes, Commander Lestrade did. Now, please show me the scene."

"This way," The man led him reluctantly to the scene after double-checking his badge again. Alex placed it back inside his pocket and strode with ease toward the body that the medics and forensics were hovering around, "Benjamin Crawford. Age thirty-four, businessman."

Alex peered at the corpse the medical examiner was gently probing and looking at. Even though he'd spent less than thirty minutes with the man Benjamin Crawford, the man lying dead at his feet was clearly not him. The man was really relatively young but the white tank with rippling muscle and a tattoo on the upper arm told him that the man was far more than a poor little sod who died. Okay, sure, he did die, but he wasn't a 'poor little sod'. He was more like a, um, beefy dude who died.

The medical examiner looked up and corrected his glasses with the back of his wrist, "Rough."

"What is?" Alex raised an eyebrow in surprise.

"Me, I am," The man chuckled, "I'm Colin Rough, you must be the Inspector on the case?"

"Harry Mayford," Alex said, flapping his badge and the man gave it a quick glance before shrugging and bending back to the corpse, ready to give Alex a quick summary, "Die of a blunt object to the head and a single shot between the eyes."

"I thought the death was some Benjamin Crawford?" Alex asked.

"Oh," Rough nodded, jerking his head a second cluster of forensics to his left perhaps five meters away, "That's him there. I suppose you're here because of him?"

"Yeah," Alex nodded then asked, "Two bodies?"

"This body was just found, buried by an overturned garbage chute," Rough explained as he stood up and gestured for him to follow him to Benjamin Crawford's corpse, "This one died of a bullet straight to the head. Immediate kill, I can say."

"When did he die?"

"About four hours ago, between the windows of o'three thousand to o'four thirty. Say, aren't you a bit young?"

"Twenty-two," Alex said, flapping his badge one more time as he glanced closely at the body. There was a look of surprise on the man's face, a flicker that stay frozen as the life plug was pulled. He laid in an awkward position, sprawled across the hard chisel ground and that reminded Alex of the one time they had a field trip. He shook his head to focus on the task at hand. He was a police officer in the middle of a scene, he shouldn't be diverting his attention to field trips.

"What 'bout that one?" Alex jerked his head at the first corpse and Rough guided him back to it, "A John Doe so far, I'm afraid. No identification."

Alex squatted down and looked more closely at the victim. There was a lot of blood from both the wound straight between his two eyes and the horrifying dent made on his head that must have smashed straight through the skull. Apparently, the skull was a fragile thing, if he'd learn his lessons correctly in Biology class. The man had a look of defiance and acceptance on his face in his last minute and Alex could almost sense it, eerily enough-perhaps he was a psychic-, in the blank glossy brown eyes that couldn't live to see another day. Oh, his amazing poetry abilities.

His eyes trailed down the throat then at the neatly organized position the man was laid in, "Did you…um, put him in this position?"

"We had to, he was crushed beneath the chutes," The examiner frowned, taking off his gloves and putting them gingerly into a Ziploc bag, "Gotta do it for identification and examination."

Alex pointed at the scars and bruises on the man's front. Some of the lacerations clearly were fresh, or relatively fresh before the man died, for the white tank was stained from more than the normal amount of blood, "What's all the cuts?"

"Some sort of torture, I suppose," Rough lowered his tone by a notch, "And the tattoos, I know I'm not a detective and the sort, but this man looked like he was in a gang."

"If he is," Alex frowned, "Do you know which one it might be?"

"Well," The man shrugged easily, "We don't have a lot of gangs running around here, do we? My best guess is the ones who called themselves Esonob."

"Esonob?" Alex asked. He'd never heard of that before.

"Fairly new," Rough said as he straightened and Alex followed suit, "Formed about half a year ago? Got caught once in a store robbery I remember but they've been stealing things for quite often since three months ago. Don't you watch the news?"

Alex shrugged, "Not really. No. Any possessions he had?"

"Not much, a phone on that Benjamin Crawford but nothing else on either of them," Rough said just as another frown began to crease his forehead, "Though we did found a card in both of their pockets."

"A card?" Alex asked curiously. Rough beckoned him to follow as he walked toward the forensics group and retrieved the plastic bag evidence and handed it to him, "Found on both of them. They were definitely killed by the same person."

The edge of the card was blood-soaked but Alex could see the message on the first card just fine, "Scorpia never forgives."

"Scorpia never forgets," Rough finished the message on the second card, "Seems like you're looking at some organization looking for revenge on them."

Scorpia. Alex's mind was already far away when he read the first message. He knew the motto faintly in his first interaction with Scorpia. Reaching into his inner coat pocket, Alex pulled out the card Fletcher had given him the day before. There, engraved right above the telephone number, was the motto.

"What's that?" Rough asked, startled by Alex's slowly graven face.

"Something someone gave me," Alex slowly pocketed the card, "I think we're up against something very big, Mr. Rough."

"Glad I'm just medic then," Rough said, patting him on the shoulder slightly, "I must get going. You should expect my report no later than four in the afternoon today."

"Thanks," Alex said as Rough began to walk away after returning the evidence to the forensics.

 _Abort or he dies._

And someone died.

Alex swallowed. Jesus Christ.

* * *

"God, mate," Tom said, throwing himself onto the sofa lightly, grabbing a pillow to hug to his chest, "I don't think the message meant him, that Benjamin dude."

"But he died, right after I sent the message," Alex argued, nursing a cup of coffee.

They were in Tom's house and it was late at night. James hmphed slightly, "Cheerful, Al. You couldn't have done anything to stop it. Stop doing the whole cliché it's-all-my-fault thing."

Alex ran a hand through his hair in distress, "You're right."

"Besides," Tom said, grabbing the computer from the coffee table, "We've got a new job. This one's safer, I swear. I read it ten times already."

Alex nodded and Tom began to elaborate, "A zoo, this time. Let lose a scorpion."

"Safe?" Alex grimaced, "That's really bold. Scorpia, Scorpion."

"Thought so too," James nodded, nursing his own cup of hot chocolate, "But if we just like, run fast enough as soon as we let loose that scorpion, we're saved."

"James' got the map and escape routes done," Tom added, "In case you want to do it soon, that is. There're lots of trees so it'd be easier to hide than others."

James scooted forward and produced a piece of paper with the map of the zoo on it. There was a building circled with a red marker. The ink was probably running out for the mark was faint and had a dead look to it. Dying like his soul. Alex groaned internally. Since when was he such a pessimist?

"The scorpions are kept in here," James said, "Through glass, I think."

"Hands up if this reminds you of Harry Potter," Tom said, his hands shooting up much to the contrast of the other two occupants, "Dude, the Brazilian snake, and the Dudley? How the snake spoke to Harry?"

There was no response to his enthusiasm, "Jeez, what do you guys do in your spare time? Anyway, I'm thinking of doing this sometime within busy hours."

"Why?" Alex asked.

"It might be harder," Tom nodded, "But we have the chance of making it an 'accident'. You know, like crashing into the thing accidentally and stab a knife through the glass while we're at it."

"Dude, you do know that you can't just stab through the glass," James pointed out, "It's thick, mate."

Alex frowned thoughtfully, "What do you guys think about a field trip tomorrow?"

"To the zoo?" Tom was smart sometimes, Alex had to give his mate that.

"Yeah," Alex nodded, "Scout out all the possible things we can do to let the scorpion out. We can always be a worker at the zoo or something."

"This's some sort of city zoo," Tom frowned, "They've tight security."

"Well, you can always just add a staff or two to the roster, can't you?" Alex glanced at Tom. He trusted his best friend's hacking ability. The thought alone made him grimaced. Normal sixteen years old were probably at home at the moment, staying up till inhumane hours playing what-was-it-called? Mario Bros and not planning a sabotage at the zoo. Oh, how he just loved his life.

"I can," Tom replied, "But the recruitment thing is open only once a year in January and that's already way past. They have rotations, four groups of six per twelve hours. It's kinda tight-knitted so you can't just butt in that easily."

"Damn."

"Let's just check things out tomorrow," Alex suggested as he set down his cup on the coffee table and swung his legs onto the sofa, "I'm bone tired."

Tom shut the lid of the computer and took a sip of his drink, "How can your bones be tired, Al? They're always encased in warm comfy meat muscles."

"That's disgusting, Tom," James commented from the side.

* * *

Alex swore it was pretty illegal to be going to a zoo with the pretense of a police patrol. Not that he would care, honestly. Mayford might, but not him. At least he didn't drive to the zoo in a police car _which_ would have been disastrous. Imagine the number of laws he would be breaking on top of his existing ones. Probably far beyond his fingers' counting ability.

"We're just teens looking for zoo thrills," James reassured Tom who looked rather uncomfortable being out in the open and Alex thought his best friend was very much tempted to smash out the security cameras located in the corners, "Ease up, mate. If anything, Al should be the one who's nervous."

"Why?" Alex asked curiously.

"Well, besides the fact that you're supposed to be on a patrol," James rolled his eyes, "And that the security might recognize you in the footage if you slip up tomorrow, jeez, I don't know."

"Good point," Alex mused thoughtfully as James dragged them toward the counter to purchase tickets like law-abiding citizens. The old man at the counter gave them a mild distasteful glance before accepting their order and money, returning with three tickets, "Have a good day."

"Why does he hate us?" Tom asked as they entered the gate and had the personnel ripped half of their tickets off, "God, what is this is an omen?"

"Well," Alex shrugged easily as he pocketed the remains of the ticket, "It's a bloody Tuesday, we're technically supposed to be at school."

"Oh right," Tom sighed, "I forgot. The joy of being a school drop-out."

"Hey," James protested, "It's just for two days: today and tomorrow. I'll let you know that I attended school yesterday."

"You're gonna hurt Al's feeling by stating that he's a school drop-out," Tom stage-whispered, probing Alex lightly on the arm, "Sorry mate."

"Mayford can have you arrested for physical harassment of an officer," Alex snorted, slapping Tom's provoking hand away, "Besides, what do you learn in school anyway? Stats? I'm sure as hell that I won't be able to find work in the mathematical area."

"Stats' great for hacking business," Tom suggested then his eyes lit up, "Ooh, lions!"

Like a sixteen-year-old Tom, Tom rushed to the metal gate fence and pointed excitedly at the lions in the exhibit. Alex felt sorry for the lions. To be held in captivity and being pointed at the whole day, the horrors. Humans were, well, inhumane in so many ways.

"Damn, look at that yawn," Tom said, taking his phone out and started snapping pictures as one of the lions glared and yawned tiredly, its head dropping onto its front paws and appeared oblivious to Tom's enthusiastic whoops of joy. Alex hoped to achieve the mastery level of ignoring Tom that the lion had done.

And thus began their detour. By the time they finally reached the House of Scorpions, a chilling name, by the way, they had made almost an entire round around the zoo. The only animal they did not go to see was the alligators—Tom said they would leap up and bite your arms off if you even stare at them for more than half a second. James had asked how Tom knew the time limit was half a second. Instincts, gut instincts, Tom had replied. Alex had no doubt it was that particular incident when Tom had nearly walked straight into an alligator. But, please, let bygones be bygones.

"This ice-cream is delicious," James said as he smacked his lips together, appreciating and savoring the minty flavor from the cold snack, "Al, don't you want one?"

"I prefer to be as far from diabetes as possible," Alex commented dryly as they sat down on one of the indoor tables. The scorpions were housed right behind the thick glass display in front of them. Their habitat was a semi-large one with rocks and sand dirt spread out in every direction. There was also a very small stream running across the center with small plants and shrubs around. Alex counted five large ones and numerous small ones from where they were seated which was the say the large ones would be even larger than 'large'.

He winced. Hell was he supposed to get one out without letting the rest out? It would be a panic if one scorpion was running loose. Probably chaos if a whole nest of them were having a party outside their display.

"C'mon, let's check out the glass," Tom said as he stood up, crossing to the glass display.

The glass was thick all right, at least the width of half of his palm as he noticed by peering to the side where the wall meeted the glass. It would be impossible to blow the glass out with anything smaller than a few rounds from the gun, much less a knife Tom was talking about.

"Not looking so good," Tom grimaced, knocking on the glass in a vain attempt to get the scorpion's attention. One of the smaller ones scurried from the glass due to the vibration but the others stayed where they were, cool and well rested beneath the rocks.

Another man walked over and knocked on the glass, whistling slightly, "Thick glass, huh."

The three of them exchanged a glance. Was their plan exposed? "Eh, yeah. Really thick."

The man flashed them a smile. He was a middle-aged man, simple looking and dressed. He didn't have an air of defiance that Alex thought someone who had exposed their plan would have but instead there was a near look of nervous and rage in his eyes. Drunk? No, the man did not reek of alcohol. Damn, he should stop seeing people as if they were maniacs on the loose.

"Shouldn't you school boys be at school?" The man questioned kindly.

"Excuse me sir, but I'm twenty-two," Alex retorted as he crossed his arms in authority, "I don't like it when people call me a kid. Like hell my fault that I look like I'm ten?"

"Sorry," The man held up his hands in apology, "Just wondering, that's all. And, are you all in twenties?"

"They're sixteen," Alex replied.

"Friends?"

"Half-brothers," Alex narrowed his eyes. The look was back in the man's face. Insanity, for a split second Alex recognized. He slowly pulled Tom and James behind him, ignoring their glances of concern, "And you are?"

"Scorpia," The man hissed out beneath his breath.

Alex faltered then recovered, "What?"

He thought he had covered it well enough but the small milliseconds of his falter spoke louder to the man. It was enough for the man to process the information and in a split second, he saw the man's arm snatched forward, grabbing James by his collar and Tom's reaction came later after James was dragged to the man's side.

"Nobody moves!" The man yelled, a gun materializing in his hands and aimed point-blank at James' temple. Alex froze and so did Tom, and the rest of the people in the gallery, "If you move, the boy dies. Call the police, the boy dies."

"You do not want to do this," Alex instinctively fell into the cliché phrase as he slowly held up his hands in a gesture of peace, "I'll come if you if you want, leave him out of this."

"I said nobody moves!" The man yelled and Alex saw one of the security froze in his track behind the man, his radio out and his mouth rattling off instructions quietly, "You!" One of the people, a woman, gave a jump as she was being called out, "Go get the manager."

"M-Me?" Her voice was unnaturally high, not that Alex blamed her. Tom would have the same voice if he was asked to speak right now.

"Leave them out of this," Alex said slowly, trying not to agitate the man any further, "What do you want?"

"What I want," The man said, his eyes beseeching the woman and Alex, "Is to see the manager or I _will_ start shooting."

As a show of his threat, three shots were fired straight at the glass barring the scorpions from the rest of the world. Someone screamed but his, or hers Alex couldn't tell in the moment of panic, companion halted the noise abruptly with a hand over their mouth. The glass remained intact but the three bullets had embedded themselves halfway into the glass.

Why would he want to shoot the glass? It would have been more dramatic to shoot out the electric tube above him. Scorpia. Letting scorpions out.

Fletcher. Oh bloody damn hell, this insane man was under instructions as well. Alex slowly exhaled as he took a step forward. He found himself suddenly staring straight at the barrel and he swallowed, pausing in his track, "What did he blackmail you with?"

"Shut up!" He yelled, his gun shaking for a second before turning back to James, "Where's the manager?"

"Here, I'm here," An older man, in his mid-forties, came out from the door behind Alex. Alex didn't dare to turn, "Please, we'll do anything you want. Just let the boy go."

"I want you to take down the glass," The man jerked his head at the bullet-embedded glass.

The manager walked closer and peeked his head at the content of the glass. His face paled drastically and he rubbed his hands together nervously, "But they're poisonous scorpions, mister. We can't let-"

"Do it, or he gets it," The man gestured at James.

James was breathing heavily and Alex had to give it to him for not panicking but as their eyes met, he could see that James was literally biting his tongue to not scream his head off in terror, "It's alright, James." Alex said quietly, "Be calm. Think of your socks."

James choked, "What?"

"Shut up!"

Alex and James did but Alex was pleased to see that James' face no longer looked like he just ate his socks.

"If I take out the glass," The manager said slowly, "The scorpions might bite you too."

Good. Stall for time. The man clearly knew what was happening for his hands tightened on the trigger and Alex felt his breath caught in his throat in apprehension, "Take out the glass and don't let me say that again."

Then they heard it. Sirens. Damn the police, don't they know to be silent? The man swung around, looking for the perpetrator, "Who did it? _Who did it_?"

"Look, you're losing," Alex took another step forward, "You can't win."

"She'd let me see them if you die," The man said, his gun hand shaking badly now.

She? Them?

"Be logical," Alex chuckled, "And also, I think you meant 'he'. Fletcher is a guy, not a woman. He threatened your family, didn't he?"

The man wavered slightly, "It's a she, I'm sure. I saw her. My wife, my kid. I-I…"

"Police!" Alex was never so glad to hear Wolf's voice yelling through the speaker, "Man inside, you're surrounded by arm police. Surrender and give up your weapons."

"I-"

The split indecision was all Alex needed to make eye contact with James, who nodded, and drew his gun, a swift shot to the man's gun blew the metal away and James ducked before anything else could happen. Then the door was kicked open and armed police spilled into the small gallery. Wolf was ever so quick with taking in the situation and the policemen brought down the man, tackling him straight to the ground and kicking his gun away as far as possible.

Alex drew in a shuddering breath and felt his legs gave out.

"Mayford!" Wolf reached out in alarm.

Tom was quicker, dragging him back on his feet and leaning him against the wall, "Hey, mate. You alright?"

"Are you hurt?" Wolf demanded, coming over as the other policemen began comforting the families and other tourists in the gallery, escorting them out slowly through the door, "Shot anywhere?"

God. God. If he'd known that adrenaline was so powerful, he would have bought a bunch from eBay and stored them for future uses. James was so close, _so close_ to being another bloody body at the morgue.

"Mayford?" Wolf snapped a finger in front of his face to get his attention, "Are you hurt?"

"No, I'm fine," Alex swallowed then let out a snort, "Just the shock, that's all. I think I need a shock blanket."

"Who are you?" Wolf turned toward Tom and narrowed his eyes.

"Al-Harry's friend," Tom supplied, switching to Alex's cover name immediately.

"Please leave us," Wolf demanded, "Follow the others out the door and please wait outside. We will be needing a witness report for this."

"But…"

"Go to James," Alex said quietly, meeting Tom's eyes and giving a quick nod. Tom left reluctantly.

"What happened?" Wolf demanded as Alex pulled himself straight with the small ledge from the wall.

"Some maniac," Alex said as he shook his head, "Wanted to blow out the glass."

Wolf followed his gaze and took in the three bullets, "Why?"

"I don't know," Alex shook his head again.

There was a moment of silence before Wolf grabbed him by the shoulder and began marching him out, "Right, back to the station, then we'll talk."


	6. Emo-Man

A.N.: Final's coming straight up the alley and I'm freaking out. Sorry that this chapter was a little late and the length might not be as long as you've hoped for. Promise I'll make a longer one once break hits. ^ ^

* * *

"I want everything," Wolf said as he lowered himself into the chair in front of Alex and crossed his arms, "Every detail, starting from the top."

"Do I have to sit like a suspect?" Alex muttered as he leaned back in his chair in the interrogation cell. Tom and James were no doubt in some other rooms down the hall. He was so glad that Wolf the Commander could pay him a personal visit though he doubted that the gesture was sincere. Too early for a Christmas surprise.

"Yes you do," Wolf narrowed his eyes, "And you are going to stay there until you start talking."

"Why do you look so pissed?" Alex raised an eyebrow at Wolf's irate expression, "It-"

"Jesus Christ," Wolf snapped, "Just get on with it. Why don't you start by explaining why you took off to a zoo during a routine patrol?"

"I happened to _pass_ by the zoo," Alex lied, leaning forward in a manner as if he was correcting Wolf from the bottom of his heart.

"Security footage might prove otherwise," Wolf slammed his hands, making Alex flinch in alarm, "Now start speaking the _truth_ or you're going into jail for unlawful conducts faster than you can say zoo."

Alex felt that saying 'zoo' at the moment wasn't the wisest decision so he sighed, running a hand through his hair, a hand that reminded him of the one grabbing James by the collar and holding a gun to his best friend's head, "I went to the zoo, thought to take some time off."

"And your friends?" Wolf began writing.

"They came with me, we planned to go together," Alex shrugged, his eyes meeting the edge of the table.

"Why did you go to the zoo?" Wolf asked and Alex could feel the man's eyes daring him to meet it.

Alex fell silent, unable to come up with a convincing lie on the spot. Wolf shifted then added, "Let me rephrase the question. Why scorpions?"

Oh, you have no idea. Alex grimaced, "A meeting location, of some sort."

Wolf's pen paused before it started scratching the paper again, "Meeting who?"

"I don't know," Alex curled then uncurled his fists, watching them curiously as if he was a just-born infant, "Scorpions, I suppose."

"You don't know?" Wolf sounded skeptical and angered at the same time, "Then why did you go there? Are you a trafficker?"

"What?" Alex's eyes shot up in surprise then he chuckled, "No, I'm not. Look, it's no harm done. I'll accept the terms of going to jail for violating police codes and such if you want."

"Fine," Wolf straightened and began leafing through the papers on the metal table before them, pausing as he found what he was looking for, "Who was that man?"

"Who?" Alex was confused for a moment before it clicked, "Oh, the man who had a gun?"

"The man who was about to kill your friend," Wolf corrected him bluntly.

Kill. Blood.

Fuck it, Alex exhaled softly as he dragged a hand down his face slowly.

"Mayford?" Wolf snapped a finger, "Answer the question."

"I don't know," Alex shook his head, "Never seen him before."

"Then what do you mean by," Wolf said, glancing at the paper, probably some sort of transcript, "Blackmailed?"

Alex felt sick. He shouldn't have run his mouth at the zoo. Goddamn security cameras and witnesses, they should've kept their mouths shut, "Just something…"

"Something?" Wolf prompted, his tone slightly less acidic than before.

The loud sigh that escaped him seem to have caught Wolf by surprise and the man slowly capped his pen, "Mayford, I need you to answer the next question with complete honesty or I'm going to hook you up with a lie detector."

Alex swallowed. He knew what the question was going to be before it was asked.

"Are you being blackmailed by someone?" Wolf asked. Alex suddenly found himself unable to tear his eyes away from Wolf's commanding ones and he nearly found himself slipping, "Mayford?"

"No…"

"Mayford."

"Hypothetically," Alex leaned forward in sudden exasperation at simply how stupid Wolf was, "If I were blackmailed into doing something, do you think going to the police will be part of the solution? You know, generic crime movies and all that?"

Wolf considered his point, his pen tapping again, "Fine, I'll let that pass for now. What happened afterward?"

"After what?"

"After he held a hostage situation with your friend."

"He asked the manager to bust open the scorpion exhibition glass," Alex said. Facts, he was good at them. Truths and lies, he wasn't as much as he wanted to when emotions played a large factor of it. Goddamn Scorpia, "And we stalled for a while and then you arrived."

"Please give a detailed accountant of your…'stalling'," Wolf wrote something down on the paper before his pen started tapping again, "And please don't leave anything out."

They were back to the blackmailing again, "I'm exercising my right to remain silent."

Wolf stared at him, his pen pausing before going back in a furious manner of tapping, "Is there anything that you can tell me about what you said to the man?"

Alex thought it over. He really did, "No."

Wolf growled in irritation as he stood up, his chair scraping against the floor in a loud noise and he motioned for Alex to get up as well, "Go home. Rest, or whatever you do. Tomorrow you're back to work."

"That's it?"

"Unless you have anything else to tell me, yes, I believe that's it," Wolf didn't look friendly as he ushered Alex out of the room.

But before Alex could take a step further, Wolf grabbed him by his collar and hissed, "Listen, Mayford, whatever shit you're deep in, you better watch your steps and if anything arises, I want to be the first to hear about it."

"I don't date guys and I'm not interested in you," Alex patted Wolf on the shoulder sarcastically but before his hand could make its third descend, Wolf slapped it away, "I'm serious, Mayford. First that man at the dock, then some weird Scorpia shit. I don't know what I'm dealing with here and I don't like it when I don't."

"I get it," Alex sighed. He needed to have a heart to heart talk with Fletcher and this time he wasn't going to buy that whatever that man was going to offer as a friendly gestures because guess what, shit just hit the fan and even if the fan was spinning at a painfully slow speed, it was starting to speed up and Alex would really want to get out of the room before the shit plaster him in the face.

"Good," Wolf jerked his head out the door, "Your friends are done already. Take them and leave, and don't use a police car, I'm warning you Mayford."

"O captain, my captain," Alex fake saluted, knowing for sure that his gesture was probably offending to military personnel because of its inaccuracy.

Before Wolf could respond, a different officer came up and the commander lost the chance as Alex walked away.

* * *

"I advise you to drop that gun," Fletcher said immediately as Alex pulled the door open, "First, the sound of the gunshot will be heard in the neighborhood. Second, you will be haunted for the rest of your life for taking my life. Third, I have no intention of harming your friend. Fourth, you should know who we are up against."

"I need a fifth reason," Alex said as he slowly clipped the safety back onto his gun and threw it down onto the sofa behind him without looking, "Or I will start punching."

"Fifth," Fletcher said as he gestured for Alex to follow him, "We better step up our game or we will both die."

That got Alex's attention as he snuck one last glance back in the house and followed Fletcher out, closing the door softly behind him. Tom and James were asleep. Why shouldn't they be when it was just barely midnight?

"I take it you didn't watch the video I gave you?" Fletcher asked as soon as they stepped out without preamble, "A pity, really."

"I was waiting for you to give a synopsis," Alex shrugged, "Or a summary if you can. Save me some time. What's this about dying and stepping up the game?"

"The zoo," Fletcher said, stopping before they could go over the gate to beyond the barrier of the house, "That man who held your friend hostage-don't give me the surprised look I can get my hand on accurate information fast- he wasn't sent by me."

"Sent by you, sent by Scorpia," Alex snapped, "What's the difference?" No one touches his friend and he wasn't going to show mercy to those who did.

"That's the problem," Fletcher sighed, "There is a difference. A major difference. But first, let me correct you, he wasn't from Scorpia directly. He was from Julia Rothman."

"No bells ringing," Alex raised an eyebrow. Julia Rothman. Alex was sure he had never heard of that name in his whole entire life so far. He might have heard of Julia, like a lot of Julias, but the last name Rothman just reminded him of some pricey perfume brand, "I need a little bit more explanation."

"She's one of the top agents from Scorpia," Fletcher explained, wrapping his dark scarf closer around his neck and his hands went into his pocket for warmth against the cold night.

"Then there is no difference between her and Scorpia," Alex shook his head, "What are you getting at, Emo-man?"

"It's Fletcher," The man corrected him before continuing, "The thing is, Scorpia's looking to recruit new promising agents."

"And you're one of the people trying to get recruited?"

"No," Fletcher said, sending him a withering look as if commenting silently on his stupidity, "I'm one of the recruiters. In fact, all of the high-ranking agents are recruiters."

Alex closed his eyes as the information was processed and the truth sank in. It felt like a hard slap in the face and the biting cold made it worse, "I'm getting recruited."

"Each agent is in charge of finding one candidate," Fletcher nodded, "One suitable candidate they have in mind. We train them and pit them in a game against each other."

"Goddamn it," Alex swore loudly, "You're saying that guy who held a goddamn gun to James' head was one of the recruits?"

"If by James you meant your friend, yes," Fletcher said, giving him a glance. There was still the usual coldness but Alex swore he saw something softened in those piercing silver eyes.

"I want out," Alex breathed quietly.

"You can't, Alex," Fletcher shook his head, "It's too late."

Suddenly, he was angered, "Why did you choose me? Fuck you! What did I do to deserve this? Goddamnit, I get it if they're just after me now, but this puts my friend in danger. I did your errands, I robbed the banks, and I returned the money. What more do you want me to do?"

Fletcher didn't move but instead, his right hand came out of his pocket and he presented Alex a small metal box.

"What is this?" Alex questioned gingerly after a few moment of awkward pauses when the man didn't react to his outburst.

"Every time a task is completed," Fletcher said as he pushed the box into Alex's hesitant hand and his hand went back into his pocket for the residual warmth, "A new one appears. A new clue appears, actually. The leader, of Scorpia I mean, is the puppet master behind all these. We're all just his puppets."

"Cut to the point, Emo-man," Alex snapped as he fingered the small metal case.

Fletcher ignored his nickname, "In the past, it has always been me receiving the clue, me finding out what the clues want you to do, and you doing what it is on there. It has been efficient, but Julia Rothman has beaten me to it this time. I'm afraid solo work isn't going to get us anywhere."

"What are you getting at?"

"The teams are ranked," Fletcher explained patiently, "The last four teams, well, let's just leave it that they get fired."

"You mean they get killed," Because Scorpia just didn't sound fierce if blood didn't come out of this seemingly friendly rival.

"I thought I said to leave it at getting fired," Fletcher raised an eyebrow, "But yes, if that's what you want to hear. They are killed, willingly or not."

"And if you lose this sadistic game of recruitment, you will die too," Alex narrowed his eyes.

"Correct," Fletcher shifted his feet and they listened to the sound of a distant car speeding by before the older of the two continued, "We count things by cases and so far, we've managed to complete five before the other team. That means we're five points ahead."

"Funny we're counting down on our life with points," Alex muttered and before Fletcher had the chance to interrupt, he shrugged, "You must be smart."

"I'm proposing that we work together," Fletcher said, his eyes catching his and they were suddenly serious, "It'd be faster and more efficient."

"After I nearly fell to my death from the side of the bank and you didn't show up once? I doubt our teamwork can go anywhere."

"It was your job," Fletcher narrowed his eyes, "You're supposed to complete it with your own ability."

"Oh right, the whole recruit shit," Alex shook his head, "Listen, Emo-man, I-"

"And before you refuse my offer," Fletcher stepped closer, his silvery orbs no longer flickering with any amusement-there was some a moment before even when Fletcher appeared serious-, "Let me remind you that I'm letting you do the jobs I gave you without my help was simply because I trust your ability. My life is in your hand but not the other way around. If I die, you can go free without binds. If you die, _I_ die."

"And you trust me because?" Alex swallowed his pride.

"Because I believe in your ability," Fletcher said, stopping Alex before he could ask why "And that's a story for another time. Now, will you accept my offer or not?"

"Why are you, you and the rest of Scorpia agents, recruiting people by blackmailing them?" Alex narrowed his eyes, hints of distrust still couldn't help but seep into his brown eyes.

"Because we need the talents and we will not stop at anything to get the recruits," Fletcher did not have any note of apology in his voice for kidnapping Alex's father. It was hard for him to push down his anger.

"Give me five reasons as to why I shouldn't kill you right here and now."

"I can give you one."

"Go ahead."

"Your father," Fletcher said, "was never kidnapped by me. He's hiding from Scorpia."

"What?" Alex asked incredulously, surprise written all over his face, "What do you mean?"

"I don't know the detail but," Fletcher shook his head, "He is very close to getting what he needs and Scorpia's not going to allow him to get it. Last I heard he is nursing his wound somewhere, waiting for his chance while sending minions to do small bits of his job."

"And you're telling me because?"

"I want to make you a deal," Fletcher finally said, "You help me with this, I'll give you what your father wants."

"What do you mean?"

"I know what your father wants," Fletcher said, his meaning nebulous, "And I know where it is. I guarantee that if you do this with me, your father will get what he wants."

"How do you know he won't be able to get whatever this is on his own?"

"Because I know," Fletcher couldn't be any more unspecific in his vague reply, "And I will take you to your father."

"What if he doesn't want to be found?" This was a situation Alex never considered yet it came out nonetheless. His father didn't even call back to check on him, not even once, for the past half a goddamn bloody year, "What if he doesn't want to see me?"

Fletcher fell silent for a moment, "Then instead of taking you there, I'll get you his new phone number. I know you've tried calling him and the call always go directly to voicemail. And that the GPS signal shows that it's in the bedroom drawer in your house."

"Stalker," Alex couldn't resist.

"Do we have a deal?"

"Fine," Alex extended his hand.

Fletcher flat out refused to offer his, "I get cold easily. I don't want my hand to leave my pocket."

"Suit yourself," He found himself grinning despite the situation, "So what's our next job? I hope it's not too illegal."

"Oh don't worry," Fletcher chuckled dryly, "It's illegal."

Strangely, that made Alex laugh. Oh god, he was officially part of the anti-social psychopath club now. No backing or quitting anymore. It felt nice, to be on the same side as Fletcher. Safe, in a sense, because he knew they were both opposing Scorpia.

Not that Fletcher explicitly told him, but implicitly, it was enough to draw the conclusion.

* * *

"No bloody damn hell!" Tom screeched, "Nope nope nope! Al!"

"Calm down," Fletcher replied rather, well, calmly, "We made peace."

"Al, how do you flip the safety of this thing?" James yelped, presumably fumbling with Alex's gun, "I need to shoot! I need to shoot this guy!"

"I told you to not do that whole sit-in-the-living-room to scare the shit out of them thing, Emo-man," Alex commented dryly as he typed up his report of the Benjamin Crawford case, tapping the enter key loudly just to make sure that his surrounding fellow policemen think that he was working as hard as he could.

"I presume the one fumbling the gun is James and the other Tom?" Fletcher asked.

"Al, you told him?" Tom yelled, "Wait, goddamn it Al, I need to hear you too. Call us or something and give us an explanation."

Fletcher, James, and Tom were currently at Tom's house having their first official introduction to each other. While Alex had repeatedly told Fletcher that neither Tom nor James would take kindly to a Scorpia agent who had, hypothetically, kidnapped Alex's father sitting in their living room, Fletcher insisted that the impression would last longer. It did judging by Tom's indignified responses.

Alex tapped the small chip, the earpiece encased in that metal box Fletcher gave him yesterday, and adjusted the position so that he could hear it better, "So what's our next clue? Anything I can rob from the police station?"

"Rob from the police station?"

"Goddamn it, Wolf!" Alex sprung up in surprise, slamming his knees against the hard edge of the desk and winced in pain as he swirled around to face his commander.

"What're you up to?" Wolf asked, sipping his coffee with undisguised amusement all over his face as he pulled open a newspaper. The paper wrinkled and crinkled, spreading the usual foul ink paper smell all over Alex's face.

"Just talking to a friend."

"Who faked kidnapped your father," Apparently Tom had heard the explanation and wanted to join in the _private_ conversation he was having with Wolf, "Dude, not cool."

"Something wrong?" Wolf arched an eyebrow at Alex's momentarily silence after his response, "And who's this friend? Your new invisible pal?"

Oh right, he wasn't supposed to be talking to someone with a barely visible earpiece. It would be suspicious. You know, just a teeny weeny bit suspicious because hell, everyone walks around with invisible earpiece every day and you just don't notice.

"Barney, meet Wolf. Wolf, Barney," Alex gestured at the empty air next to him with a smile, "Barney's a real sweetie-pie, you two would get along very well."

"Very funny," Wolf said as he sat down his coffee and the newspaper, "How's the Crawford Case report going?"

"Oh right, I was just about to talk to you about it," Alex swirled back to face his computer and pulled up the half-finished report, "Remember the cards the forensics found?"

"What about it?" Wolf asked.

"Did they tell you that the word Scorpia was plastered onto it?" Alex questioned as he scrolled down the page, "I'm trying to find out more about Scorpia before I finish the report. We need more background information on them."

"You can just ask me. About Scorpia I mean," Alex almost thought it was Wolf who said it. It took him split seconds, valuable seconds, to realize that it was Fletcher. _Goddamn_ that emo-man.

Wolf grunted, "Why didn't you tell me about the cards earlier? This is big. The cards could've changed everything. We were almost ruling it out as the usual mugging."

"I thought all forensics reports go to you," Alex frowned.

"They do, _eventually_ ," Wolf emphasized his word, "Jesus Christ, with this case and the zoo one, I think we're dealing with something a whole lot worse than a serial killer on the loose."

"More like serial _killers_ , plural, on the loose," Fletcher muttered by his ear.

"Yeah," Alex nodded, ignoring Fletcher's _unhelpful_ side-comments, "Maybe I should go down to Eastland Intersection again, see if they missed something. Or I can go check out the morgue for other external or internal wounds. The medic might know something."

Folding his arms, Wolf snorted, "The medic probably is too scared to poke at the dead body. Even though Chris is a good medic, a great one, he can't stand dead bodies. His policies had always been ten minutes of silent observation and never touching that body again. Good thing that he had a pretty assistant to help him out with the rest."

"Chris?" Alex frowned, his fingers faltered in midair before the keyboard, "I thought it was some Rough dude? The medic, I mean."

"Rough?"

"He said he was called, umm," Alex frowned thoughtfully then snapped his fingers, "Colin Rough."

"Oh, he was temporary," Wolf nodded, "Chris called in sick last time so a substitute from the downtown department was called in."

"Damn," Alex pursed his lips, "That Rough guy had it _rough_."

"I'm not here to make low-level puns with you, Mayford," Wolf grunted without amusement as he straightened, "Well, go down to the intersection and see what you find. And I want that report on my desk before the end of the day."

"Where're you going?"

"Since when do you question me?"

"Since two seconds ago," Alex shrugged as he stood up, grabbing his coat on the back of his chair and pulled it over his suit.

"I'm gonna see if I can find something on that Scorpia," Wolf replied as he took his coffee, "God, now that that Parkour kid isn't rioting, we have some shitty dark case slamming right up our arse. Someone's really having it out for us."

Alex grimaced.

"Well, technically parkour kid and these dark cases are all the same thing," Tom said in the background.

"Should I tell him that?" Alex asked with mock thoughtfulness as he watched Wolf's retreating back disappeared into his office, "You know, just to be kind."

Fletcher cleared his throat and did his best Mickey-mouse impression of Alex, "Oh, Mr. Commander Wolf Lestrade, I just want to tell you that these _shitty dark cases_ are somehow all linked to me, I'm sorry. Oh, by the way, there will be more of these _shitty dark cases_ coming up, so stay tuned. Bye, see you at work later."

"Exactly what I thought I'd say," Alex grinned as he turned off his computer and made his way down the hall to the car parked outside, "Nice one, Fletcher."

"Dude," Tom butted in, "Not cool. You're not making this random…guy…dude…person your best mate. We're your best mates."

"Jealous?"

"You know what, that's it," Tom mock-growled at Fletcher's quirk, "We're done, Al. Either you cut ties with your new boyfriend or we're done."

"Stop being such a Tom," Alex snorted.

"I'm suing you for this affair you're having!" Tom shouted dignifiedly.

Alex unlocked his car and inserted the car key, hearing the car purred to life beneath him. Damn, illegal underage driving was so much fun, "Then I'll see you in court tomorrow, ex."

* * *

 **Replies:**

 **To Night Rider:** yup, that's all I want you to know so far but you might have reached some different understandings after this chapter xD. Don't worry, everything will become clear once I actually start going into the real plot thing

 **Ava Simbelmyne:** I'm just so happy every time you review because it always make my day no matter what 3


	7. Wild Staplers

**A.N.: I know, hands-up, guilty as charged. I hadn't been able to update over the break as I thought I could. I know, I have like gazillion excuses lined up but yeah, sorry that I couldn't update earlier Anyway, hope you guys had a great holiday and happy new year!**

* * *

"Do you have the ID for the other dead guy yet?" Alex asked as he approached the medic in the examination room. He looked a little queasy on the edge and visibly brightened by his approach, "I'm Harry Mayford."

"Right," The man said, gesturing to the door as he grabbed a stack of files off the table, "Let's talk outside, I can't stand this."

Wolf was right on his info about the man being sick around the morgue, "No problem."

He pushed the door open for the man and exited behind him, getting a waft of hospitals and cold air through the small swish.

"I'm Chris," The man said, extending his hand and Alex took it, surprised at the warmness in the grip. He had thought it'd be cold, given the temperature in the room, "Harry, can I call you Harry?"

"Please," Alex smiled.

"Well, Harry," Chris said, pulling a file from the stack he held in his arms and pushed it to his chest, unable to hold onto it with the pile balancing in his arm, "We've ID him to a Cross Morrison but so far no one has come forward."

Alex raised an eyebrow as he took the proffered file, "Family?"

"A brother," Chris nodded as he reorganized the pile in his arm, "His parents deceased, not married."

Alex flipped open the folder and took in the man's photo. Nope, no recognition. By the file, he was fairly young in the world's standard death age. Twenty-five. His birthday was just two months away, Alex grimaced as he snapped the file shut, "Can I, uh, take this?"

"Oh," The man smiled, "Please do if that's what you need."

"Do we have an address?" Alex gestured at the file, "For the brother."

"That's what's strange," Chris nodded, "The brother's logged under the same address but he hasn't come in for the body. You should go find him, it might prove to be important."

Alex tapped the folder in his open palm thoughtfully, "Good idea. If Wolf asks, tell him where I went."

"No problem," The man offered a smile before he hurriedly pulled pen the morgue door, "I hate this place."

Grinning slightly in farewell, Alex backtracked and doubled upstairs to the office area with the file in hand. He was becoming more and more like a policeman. Maybe he should consider a career in fake police-ing, it was actually pretty fun and required no degree. Unless they checked his background and everything but then that was the pros of having a hacker like Tom around. Though Tom had to work a little harder so that the pros list could be marginally longer than the cons.

The unexpected guest at his desk made him faltered slightly, "Morning, Chief. Again."

Wolf eased himself slightly upward from Alex's chair but didn't relinquish his claim on it as he greeted him, "Got anything?"

"Just went for a ride down Eastland," Alex shrugged as he placed the file on his desk and reached over to fire up his computer from over the counter edge of his cubical, "Talked to the examiner Chris. You're right, he seemed pretty queasy in there."

"I have a different case for you," Wolf said, cutting his investigation in half, "Stolen artifacts, some drums, from museum downtown."

"Not now. I have something about the dead guy," Alex shook his head, ignoring the raised eyebrow when he defied the order.

"Hmm?" Wolf glanced at the folder but made no move to take it, "Oh, the other dead guy. I thought I put you Benjamin Crawford and Scorpia, not some suicidal John Doe."

"I think he might be linked to Benjamin," Alex sat down on the edge of the desk and leaned forward, "Blunt trauma to the back of the head, bruising, stab wounds, you name it. People don't usually die like that."

"What did you expect?" Wolf snorted as he crossed his arms, a look of amusement plastered over his face, "A gunshot wound straight through the head?"

"A bit graphic," Alex tilted his head slightly, "But yeah, I did."

"Well," Wolf heaved himself straight, "Let me get you straight. You're going to focus on Crawford, Scorpia, and that report, let the others take care of the John Doe."

"He's not a John Doe anymore," Alex reached over and took the file, tossing it to the commander before crossing his arms in a mirrored fashion, "Cross Morrison. Twenty-five."

"Your point?" Wolf had the you-have-thirty-seconds-to-talk look on his face as he took the folder and flipped it open nonchalantly, waiting for his response as he idly skimmed the pages.

"He was crushed to death-well he was dead before that but that's not the point-beneath an overturned garbage chute," Alex elaborated, "Yeah, like normal everyday dude loves to beat themselves to death and bury their dead body beneath chutes."

"I know that it's a homicide case and not suicide," Wolf said as he snapped the folder close and sent it skidding back onto the table top, "But it's not _your_ murder case. James there can take it, but I need you on this Crawford case because you have ties to it."

"I thought having ties in a case would be a hindrance," Alex looked mildly affronted.

"That's only personal or emotional," Wolf stood up and surrendered his claim on Alex's chair, the force made the chair spun, "And I don't see you calling that man _dad_ or shedding a _tear_ at his death, so you're good."

"But they might be connected," Alex spread his hand helplessly in a vain attempt to turn the situation, "Two dead bodies? What's the possibility?"

"Last time I check," Wolf snagged the folder and ignored Alex's glare, "The record was five bodies. And guess what, crooked minds happened to like committing murder that day. None of them knew each other, and none were linked. Unless you count the fact that their ancestors might have been the same monkey."

"We're actually closer to chimps than monkeys," Alex couldn't help but comment then hastily added, "Sir." It didn't help the situation.

Wolf growled and Alex felt himself clamping his mouth shut and an innocent smile on his face as he tried to save himself from the deep hole he had dug right before the wolf's den.

"Listen up, Mayford," Narrowing his eyes, the commander said in a low tone that betrayed his irritation at Alex's discipline, "I don't care if you're the police of the month or some amazing Quantico dropouts. You're going to listen to my commands and you're going to do it. Do you understand?"

"Yessir," Alex said quietly.

"Good," Wolf said briskly as he turned, "I want that report in an hour. Make it your priority and get it done."

"Yessir."

Pausing in midstride, Wolf turned back to face him with a heavy sigh, "Look, kid."

"Man," Alex automatically corrected, grabbing his jacket on the back of the chair, "It's 'man', sir."

"I-," Wolf stopped as Alex made to move past him, "Where are you going?"

"Sebastien Morrison's house," Alex said crossly.

"Didn't you hear a word I just said?" Wolf snapped, rounding on him, affronted, as Alex crossed his arms in an act of defiance.

"Yes, you told me to leave Cross Morrison alone," Alex sighed, running a hand through his hair, "And I am not."

"And where the hell is the part where you heard what I said?" The man thundered. Alex could see the others stopping what they were doing, in awkward positions some like midway biting down on their bagel, and stared at the event unfolding before their dull everyday life. Damn, he loved being the center of attention, kind of like a reality TV show star.

"I believe there's something about the death of Morrison that's related to Crawford and I'm not letting it slide simply because you don't think there's a coincidence. I promise I won't use any police resources," Alex paused as he rethought his words, "Except the car."

"I'll give you one more chance, Mayford," Wolf seethed, "Drop the Morrison Case, or you're fired."

Alex faltered then he regained his composure as he reached into his pocket and casually pulled out his police badge, flashing it before the commander than nonchalantly dropped it onto his desk with a soft clatter as the metal hit the wood. Tom would be proud to know that he had made a replica of it on the first day that he got it, "There. Now you have no control over what I am going to do."

"I can have you arrested for invading privacies of house owners," Wolf recovered fast but his eyes were still flickering to the badge laying on the table.

"Not if they invite me in," Alex snapped as he rudely brushed passed the man, "See you around, Commander Lestrade. Or not."

"Mayford!" Wolf called.

Alex ignored him with a shake of his head showing his exasperation. Nope.

"Harry!" As if yelling his first name would have an effect on him, Alex snorted. He was alienated to his fake name. It was similar to someone randomly yelling 'Harry' at him in the streets and expecting him to turn because it was his name.

Well, maybe he would turn his head at the _commotion_ but now was just so not the time.

* * *

"I've spotted an Alex on the loose," Tom said with his insanely creepy and eerie accent over the earpiece, "Repeat, Alex on the loose. Inform all units to stop the man."

"Hi Tom," Alex replied cheerfully as he slowly unscrewed the plate of his stolen motorcycle, "Did Fletcher receive our next clue yet?"

"He did," His best mate said in confirmation, "Something dark about numbers. We need you here, mate. This is officially a race."

"Yeah, I just need to…" Alex grunted in interruption as he pried the wire away from the plate and removed the metal, "Get the motorcycle up."

"Well," James butted in with a loud slurp of beverage, "Too bad that you got yourself fired."

"Aw, don't be salty," Alex grinned as he carefully rubbed the new fake plate on the hard chiseled sandy ground to give off the old and battered vibe onto the license plate, "It's for the better."

"Yeah?" James challenged, "All our hard work. For nothing."

"I can't be a policeman and s-" Alex started with a sigh but he was interrupted before he could finish.

"Fake. Fake policeman," Tom corrected him.

Brushing the remaining sand from the plate and admiring the scratching, Alex sighed, "Yes, fake policeman. Thank you, Tom. I can't afford to spend time on being a policeman now that we have lives on the line."

"It was all rainbow, sunshine, and unicorns before," Tom sighed, "Fine, but you owe me one. Though next time, we can't exactly openly listen to police radios and you won't have heads-up information on how we're gonna keep a step ahead of the police."

"Just do what we usually do," Alex said as he screwed the plate on, burying the old plate into the soft dirt and covering it back-up. Normal people won't go around digging up dirt but in case they did find it, he was wearing a glove so there wouldn't be any prints. Besides, this was a relatively remote area and he made sure that he was wearing a helmet in case there was a security camera, "And we'd be fine."

"Alex," Fletcher's voice was momentarily lost as Alex swung himself onto the seat of the motorcycle and bent down to hotwire the vehicle, "Does the number 1451 mean anything to you?"

"My first-page report contained 1451 words," Alex remarked dryly as the engine purred to life, deafening himself for a moment.

"What about 1861?" Fletcher asked.

Turning the engine and kicking up the kickstand, Alex gunned the engine, "Well, wasn't that the start of the American Civil War?"

"Funny you know that when you're a high school dropout," Tom muttered, "James did you know?"

"Not a clue."

"Hey, don't get all salty and sulky again," Alex chuckled as he pulled into the road and joined in the stream of vehicles though keeping to the side to be safe, "Besides, I'm officially twenty-two on public records, six years your senior."

"Don't lie to yourself, Al," Tom said in a condescending and pitying tone, "I know you want to sound wise, but you can't be someone that you are not."

"Oh shuddup," Alex sighed as he made a right turn, feeling the air fluttering his open dress shirt and mismatching dress pants. He'd abandoned his police façade as soon as he exited the department. Suits just weren't his thing after all.

"Turns out," Fletcher said after a few moment of silence, "1451, in relation to 1861, is that explorer Columbus's birthdate."

"Oh?" Alex raised an eyebrow even though they couldn't see it and the others on the streets probably thought he was a psychopathic narcissist talking to himself, "So we're going US history here, even though we're in UK."

"Well, maybe they're talking about US Embassy," Tom said.

"That's like two hundred miles from here," Alex snorted, "I don't think so."

Offering his piece of mind, Fletcher spoke up, "Scorpia's never been confined to this region."

"Yeah?" Alex challenged, "So are we supposed to go bomb the embassy or something?"

"Usually the mission becomes clear within the clues," Fletcher said thoughtfully, "So far I'm not seeing that."

"Alright, I'm just outside the house," Alex said as he slowed down before Tom's house and cruised into the parking lot outside the garage smoothly, shutting off the engine and pulling his helmet off.

"Yeah, I heard you," Tom replied and there was a moment of pause before Alex saw the door opened to his right and Tom poked his head out, "Hey Al, come in."

Giving the stolen motorcycle a pat, Alex grabbed the helmet and made his way inside. Fletcher and James were, of course, seated opposite of each other on the sofa. James looked defensive while Fletcher looked like he owned the place. Well, scratch that, Fletcher looked like he owned everything.

"Nice outfit," Fletcher commented dryly before he leaned forward, grabbing a file from the coffee table and handed it to Alex as he passed by. Tom made a cutting motion when Alex was about to sit down next to James and with resignation, Alex plopped himself next to Fletcher. He'd like to tell himself that he did it with ease because of course people just _love_ sitting next to assassins.

"Yeah," Alex flipped the folder open, "Well I'm not a businessman. What do we have?"

"Well, there're two more," Fletcher shifted, looking at him for a reaction, "LLL and VLV."

Alex groaned, "Nope, no clues at all. Do you guys at Scorpia always love making riddles?"

"This's actually the last one," Fletcher remarked dryly, "The first part in recruitment's always mental tests."

"Oh, lemme guess," Alex looked at the man out of his peripheral vision, "The next one involves running around like headless chickens to prove that we are physically able."

"Hitting close to home," Fletcher chuckled softly, "Alright, let's think this over again. 1451, 1861, LLL, and VLV."

"Isn't 1451 and 1861 together?" Alex frowned, looking at the single piece of paper that was their whole clue.

"They are," Fletcher nodded, "But dividing them into two pieces gives us dates and relation to American Civil War and Columbus."

"Yeah," Alex was unconvinced, "I'll think 'bout it."

"Maybe LLL is actually just three in Roman numerals. Maybe they just have bad handwriting," Tom commented, pointing at the scribbled letters. Though no matter how hard they tried to turn it into Roman numerals, the edge sticking clearly showed that it was an 'L'. L for loser, Alex grimaced.

"I'm lost," James threw his hands up, "Mr. Fletcher, how did you manage to crack the last four so fast?"

"It takes me two days or so," Fletcher crossed his arms, "And please, call me Fletcher."

"Mr. Fletcher," James insisted, "Do you have some all-knowing pearls of wisdom to share with us?"

"Fletcher's fine," The man's smile seemed rather forced, "And no, I don't. And Alex, the Cross Morrison you find in your report, I believe he was killed by Scorpia."

"Yeah, we know that," Alex turned toward the man, the mystery for the moment forgotten, "What 'bout it?"

Fletcher met his eyes seriously, "I've seen him around. He was snooping around trying to find the…thing your father was looking for."

His frown increased, "And?"

"If Scorpia killed him," Fletcher connected the dots for him, "They might be closed to finding your father."

Alex closed his eyes, "And what should I do?"

"Are you really asking a Scorpia agent that?"

Rolling his eyes exasperatedly as he opened them a moment later, Alex sighed, "Yes, I am."

"Go talk to his brother," Fletcher nodded, "You might find out more."

"What do you get out of this?" Assassins won't just walk up to you and be like 'hey dude just wanna do you some goods here's some hint on how to get easy quick cash'. Nope.

"Let's just say it's a thank-you for helping me out," Fletcher offered a small smile.

"That's it?"

"I'm hurt that you don't trust me," The man arched an eyebrow skeptically.

"Fine," Alex grinned as he leaped off the sofa and quickly grabbed his suit from the arm of the sofa, "I'm gonna go now."

"Now?" Tom asked incredulously.

"Keep guessing," Alex gestured at the clues then tapped his earpiece, "Lemme know if you need anything."

"But that man's an assassin," James nearly yelped as Alex pulled on his shoes, "I'm not having lunch with an assassin."

"Fletcher can show himself out when he wants," Alex grimaced, spreading his hands helplessly, "I can't blackmail an assassin."

"I'm right here," Fletcher commented dryly. Drier than the Father of Dryness, the holy Dry God, the dry Sahara desert, the….Well, he got the idea.

* * *

"Police, open up!" Alex knocked loudly on the door to Sebastien Morrison's house. Even though he was technically fired, he hadn't received the official statement so therefore he was still, hopefully, and probably, legal to 'be' a policeman. Though it'd be much cooler if he was FBI. They got to kick down doors like 'bam, watch out for donkey back kick' _and_ they had much cooler gadgets.

"How may I help you?" The man that stepped out was out of Alex's original prediction range. If he was waiting for some burly man to match Cross Morrison's standard, he was dead wrong. Sebastien Morrison, the younger brother by two years, was anything but burly. Well, he could be 'burly' beneath the neatly layered suit, but Alex seriously doubted so. The man was dressed ready to go out in his suit and tie, each one placed with a sense of perfectness that blinded Alex with its holiness.

"Harry Mayford, may I come in?" Alex said politely.

"You expect me to believe that you're police?" Ah, his age problem again.

A flash of his badge solved the problem and Alex found himself seated before a warm fireplace seventeen seconds later after refusing a cup of kindly-offered tea, "I'm here to talk about your brother, Cross Morrison."

"What about him?" The man turned toward him, confusion in his expression and tone. Assessing the man, Alex felt that the tone was sincere. Sebastien didn't know about the death.

"When was the last time you saw him?" Alex started. Better breach the news last or the man might grow too upset to answer any questions.

"About a week ago," That was before the death, Alex frowned thoughtfully, wishing that he'd taken the tea, after all, to give him a better pretense of the tea-sipping gentleman, "What happened?"

"Please," Alex stopped the onslaught of questions that he knew would come out of the man the moment he stopped barring them, "I'll answer all your questions once you answer a few more of my own. Alright?"

"I still don't believe your identity," Sebastien narrowed his eyes, his hand reaching out to his phone, "Do you have a number you can call?"

"Of course," Alex smiled as disarmingly as possible as he gave the man Tom's fake number. He lost track which identity this was connected to but it was probably some law enforcement place.

The call connected a while later and Alex could hear Tom's voice over his earpiece answering the call, "This is Harrison."

Sebastien cleared his throat, "Hello, um, my name is Sebastien Morrison and, uh, is this North Highland police?"

"Yes, I'm Commander Harrison," Tom said, dragging his voice down a notch in a passable imitation of a grown man.

"I want to ask something regarding your employee…" The man glanced at Alex who flashed him his badge again, "Harry Mayford."

"Did something happen to Harry?" The heavy dosage of fake concern in Tom's voice could win him a national actor award.

"He claims that he works for North Highland Police Department," The man continued, casting a glance toward Alex, "Just want to make sure."

"Of course," Tom answered in his 'man' voice, "Harry's my most trusted man. Did something happen?"

"No, no," Sebastien chuckled awkwardly, "Of course not. Thank you for your time."

"Of course."

The call clicked and he heard Tom's loud mad cackle through the earpiece, "Beat that!"

"I'm sorry for doubting you," Sebastien hastily apologized, "Please, ask away."

"It's alright," Alex smiled warmly, "What's your brother's occupation?"

"Um," The man genuinely frowned, "We don't really talk that much but I think he was in some sort of gang."

"Gang?" Alex inquired.

"Yeah," Sebastien shook his head as he pointed toward the general direction of his back and his upper arm, "He got these tattoos and I saw a few of them picking him up."

Alex made a mental note, "You said you don't really talk that much. What do you mean?"

"Well," He chuckled, "We just mind our own business really. We aren't that close but we share living quarter to reduce the fee."

"What do you do, Mr. Morrison?" Alex gestured at the man's suit, "Businessman?"

"I work at the local museum," The man smiled.

"Is there anything that you can confirm it with?" Alex asked for standard protocols.

Sebastien grimaced as he patted his chest pocket, "Damn, I left my ID badge. Wait, I think I have, um, an image."

The man fished out his phone and flicked through the photos before giving his phone to Alex right-side up, "There. That's me and the other employees. We recently got a replica of the painting by Frida Kahlo and we incorporated that into our children's section."

Alex took the proffered phone and looked at the photo. The man was there, in uniform and nametag hanging by their neck, standing near the right end with a smile on his face. There were about six other employees and they were all standing before a painting of watermelons. Two rows of children stood before them but none of them were tall enough to cover the entirety of the painting, "This'd do." Alex nodded and returned the phone back to the man.

"Um," The man leaned forward, "Did something happen to my brother? I know we're not close, but, he's my brother after all."

Alex felt immense guilt for the man to be hearing the news from an impostor but he swallowed and casted his gaze directly to the man's eyes, "I'm sorry, but your brother was found dead a day ago at Eastland Intersection."

"Dead?" The man's eyes widened in shock, then horror, then denial, "Wait, that's impossible."

"Is it?"

"I…I need a few minutes alone," The man finally said as he managed to work his jaw again, "I…"

"I'm sorry," Alex bowed his head for a moment before softening his tone, "Do you know anyone who'd want him dead?"

Sebastien had his head buried in his hands and his response was muffled, "Gangs probably. I told him to not get involved in gangs…" The first sob wrecked the man's body before more followed, "I told him…"

Alex could only watch as the fancily-dressed man before him was reduced to no more than a sobbing grieving man with bereavement. He wanted to say something, anything, to help the man, but he couldn't think of anything except, "Do you know what your brother was looking for?"

Great consolation, Alex remarked mentally with a grimace.

"We don't talk a lot," The man mumbled, "I've no idea what he is, was, doing to his life."

A series of knock on the front door interrupted their conversation, "NHPD, open up!"

The man slowly raised his head, his eyes already red but confusion stole over, "I thought…"

"I'll get that," Alex stood up quietly, "It's my partner. He came a little later due to traffic."

"Thank you," The man said gratefully but stood up, "It's alright, I can handle it. Please, I need some time alone. I'll show you out."

"No, please," Alex shook his head, "I will show myself out. Thank you for your time, Mr. Morrison."

"NHPD!" Yup, that was definitely Wolf.

Alex fished into his wallet and pulled out a made-shift business card that Tom made him and gave it to the man, "Please, give me a call if you need anything."

"Yeah, I will," Sebastien nodded gratefully, "I'm sorry…"

Alex offered a wan smile before hurried to the front door, inhaling sharply to brace himself for the confrontation. He slowly unlocked the door and very slowly, snail speed, opened the door an inch.

"My name is Wolf Lestrade and I'm from NH…," Wolf began but stopped when Alex pulled the door halfway open and slipped out, "Mayford?"

"Hey," Alex grimaced as he shut the door and dragged Wolf back to the curb, away from the door, so that the man inside wouldn't hear the confrontation, "Fancy meeting you here."

"You have exactly one minute to give me a good reason," Wolf began, crossing his arms furiously.

"I know you're mad."

"Understatement."

"And I know you care," Alex inserted helpfully.

"Fifty-six seconds," Wolf wasn't in the mood to play games, "And counting."

"Alright," Alex threw his hands up in the air, resigned, "I couldn't stop investigating, alright? I know something's up."

"Fifty seconds, still counting," If there was a category contest for the most sadistic humor, Wolf had just won first place.

"It's this string of curiosity," Alex said, shifting quickly, "I am a detective policeman, Wolf. You can't just expect me to stop investigating _halfway_."

Wolf paused before uncrossing his arms, his gaze still murderous but considerably less, "Fine, come back to the station and finish your report and I'll let this slide. But you'll be on probation."

Sighing as he shook his head, Alex replied, "About that, uh, I was fired wasn't I?"

"And I'm telling you that it wasn't official," Wolf replied.

"Why?" Alex frowned.

"Why what?"

"Why are you doing this?" Alex asked, "You made yourself perfectly clear earlier."

"Heat words have no meanings," Wolf snapped, "Now are you going to accept the offer, or do you really want to be officially fired?"

"Are those heat words?" Alex demanded, crossing his own arms like Wolf had done a few moments ago.

"Goddamn it, Mayford," Wolf nearly yelled in frustration, "Just pick one and stop wasting _my bloody time_."

"Fire me," Alex replied calmly.

"…What?"

"Fire me," Uncrossing his arms, Alex stuffed his hands into his pockets, ready to walk away, "I don't care. I'm not cut out for police anyways."

"You're going to regret this," Wolf snarled, "Sleep on this, and tomorrow I expect you to give me an answer."

"I already have my answer," Alex narrowed his eyes. Jesus, why was the man so damn stubborn? No means no, or in other words, rejected, nope, nada, uh-uh, major x. With that, he swiftly turned, leaving Wolf to stare at his retreating back as he headed around the corner.

Even though Alex knew that Wolf was no more than a regular civilian that he should pay no attention to, guilt slammed through him like wild staplers. Really wild staplers.


	8. Just Count

A.N.: I know I know, it has been an eternity since I last updated. Even I lost track of it,, sorry. Been really busy, but you guys really made my day by reviewing! I honestly don't know when I usually update but I do generally try to update whenever I can. School's been really busy but hopefully, I can just work on it a little bit every once in a while.

* * *

One two three. Take a deep breath.

Four five six, exhale softly.

One two three, bloody hell.

Alex regretted having Tom and James as friends. He regretted inviting Fletcher over. And he really regretted standing on the doorsteps of the police station waiting to spill out an apology, forced or not, to the commander, because of how persuasive his mates and the assassin were.

"Man up, mate," Tom said through the transmission, "How bad can it be?"

"You don't know," Alex muttered dryly as he shifted again, daring himself to enter but at the same time nervous—nervous? No, psh, of course not- about the meeting, "Do you really think this is a good idea?"

"It'd help," Fletcher commented calmly, "But I'm not forcing you to. Being part of the police gives you more resources but at the same time, if they ever run a file on you and find any suspicious activities, you would be trapped and nowhere to go."

"That's positive, thanks," Exhaling sharply, Alex shouldered his bag, "Here I go."

"Talking to your invisible friend again?" His wild swinging arm was caught split second before it could hit the commander's face, "Morning, Mayford. I see you've thought things over."

"I have," The words sounded extremely forced and strained and judging by Wolf's highly amused face, he heard it as well, "And I want to ap…apo…"

"Apocalypse?" Wolf supplied unhelpfully.

"No," Alex glared, "I don't want to ' _apocalypse'_ , thank you very much. The word is spelled A-P-O-L…"

"Apollo?" Wolf grinned more and more wolfishly by the seconds.

"I don't want to ' _Apollo'_ either. Goddammit, you know what I mean."

The man clapped him on the shoulder and something strangely unfamiliar flickered across the man's face, "Well, I'd love to wipe the slate clean."

Alex was waiting for the 'but', "But this is the second time you've gone against my orders; the first with the parkour kid. I don't think I can wipe it completely clean."

That was the failure of advertisement. They never reach the appropriate people. They should instead mingle with people more to understand their needs and when they would need it. Like right now, for example, would be the perfect chance to advertise cleaning supplies.

"Try Clorox," Alex suggested gingerly, "They're very nice and efficient. And I like the smell. There's this artificial freshness that always makes me want to spend the whole box on a table."

"Watch your mouth, Mayford," Wolf's tone was border-lining dangerous but surprisingly without his usual edge, "Those kinds of comments can do you more harms than good. Now, why don't you come in and stop shifting here like some criminals?"

Ah, the irony. Wolf was really good at making those sort of comments. Stop shifting here like some criminal? That was hard, seeing that he _was_ a criminal after all.

"If possible," Alex said gingerly as they proceeded, "Can I be put back on the Crawford case?"

"Ah damn it, Al," Tom sighed loudly, "Get on the man's good side, mate. Good side. Ease it up before you go taking a swan dive into the shit pile would ya?"

Tom was gracefully ignored by Alex. Gracefully as in rudely and impolitely.

"Fine," Wolf finally replied after five long seconds of scrutinizing that Alex found strangely unnerving, "But first, tell me what Sebastien Morrison told you."

Following the commander into the building, Alex asked, "You didn't ask him yourself after I left?"

Snorting in slight amusement, Wolf casted him a glance over his shoulder, "I knew you'd come back. Why bother wasting my time?"

At that, Alex paused then the largest shit-eating grin spread across his face, "Oh Commander, you _care_."

It warmed his heart like a bright brazil afternoon sun. Wait, that sun could give you skin cancer and it didn't just warm you, it could also roast you and burn you to death.

That was a really fucked up analogy.

"Don't make me strangle you," Wolf growled as he pointed at Alex's desk, rather, Mayford's desk, "Now, take a seat, and start talking."

Alex took the proffered seat and gave a happy sigh as he sank into the soft cushion and slowly spun around, hearing the small squeals and creaks beneath, "Well, I asked him if he knew his brother was dead. Implicitly of course. He didn't know."

"And? Did you ask him what he was doing the night his brother was killed?"

"He isn't a suspect," Alex objected. No need to push the man when he was in grief if it weren't necessary.

"So you didn't ask," Wolf stated rather matter-of-factly, "What else?"

"He said Cross was involved in a gang," Nodding slightly, Alex frowned, "The gang might want him dead, but he doesn't know why. Cross sounds like your typical guy to me."

"Typical guy doesn't show up at a body dump," Wolf snorted as he crossed his arms, "What's the name of the gang?"

"I didn't ask but I don't think he knows."

The commander sighed in exasperation as he swiftly uncrossed his arms again, "There're at least twenty gangs around here. Hard to narrow it down. I want you to find if there's any connection between Benjamin Crawford and Cross Morrison."

"On it," Alex leapt up from his chair.

Wolf stopped him before he could go barging anywhere, "One more thing."

The man sounded serious and unconsciously, Alex swallowed slowly, wide-eyed.

"Don't ever quit and leave the precinct without leaving your weapon, it's against protocol."

Alex faltered then a small smile flickered across his face, "Alright, sir." Wolf looked a little surprised before he grunted, "Get out of my sight."

Alex grinned as he casually patted the gun holstered to his side, "Of course, sir. Firearms ready to be discharged anytime, anywhere, anyhow and-"

"Mayford?"

"Yeah?"

"Get out."

* * *

The next time he met the commander, which was almost exactly two hours later, was after the man called him about a homicide downtown, a tad bit further from where he was which was right outside Sebastien's house, wanting to have a second talk.

"Found anything?" The commander asked as Alex approached him after getting out of the car and shutting the door behind him.

Heaving a slight sigh, Alex shook his head, "Not much."

"So what did you get?"

Alex glared, knowing fully that the man had heard it in his tone, "I meant not much as in no, nothing at all."

Wolf gave him a mock pitying look before the approaching officer grabbed their attention and Alex squashed down the sudden urge to step on the commander's shoes. A rather childish antic, he knew, but it would satisfy him to no end to hear the commander yelp like a child. Presuming, of course, the man was capable of such reaction.

Which he doubted. Severely.

"A rather revolutionary art was taken," The police officer on the scene said as he walked up to them, "If paintings of Mary and baby Jesus is symbolic to Christians, this painting would probably be symbolic to colonists."

"Slavery?" The very educated guess was batted down by a shook of the man's head. For a moment, he could almost hear Tom and James' snide comment about him being a drop-out. Damn, that shattered his innocent soul into a billion pieces.

"The discovery of America," The policeman pointed at the crime scene. Around the display, empty display at the moment, were yellow crime scene tapes, cornering and blocking of the near proximity of 5 meters from the scene, "It was a painting of the ship that Christopher Columbus sailed on, Santa Maria. Of course, it wasn't a relatively expensive piece, it was donated a year back."

"Who's first on the scene?"

"That guy over there," The policeman pointed over his shoulder at a vaguely familiar figure who was worriedly pacing the floor while another officer was trying to coax him to calm down. Which clearly wasn't helping as the man sent a death glare and continue pacing, "Maybe you should go talk with him."

Wolf glanced at Alex and jerked his head, "Go on."

Alex accepted the offer and walked toward the agitated man. The man looked up and saw him, his pacing temporarily stopped, "Officer Mayford."

"Mr. Morrison," Alex smiled in greeting then turned toward the officer on the scene, "I'd take it from here. Thank you."

The other officer gratefully high-tailed out of the scene as Alex took his place and continued, "What happened?"

"Well, I was just working like usual. I work here like I told you. Then this girl just came up to me," Alex took out his notepad and started hastily taking notes like a good officer would do diligently, "I was caught unaware, really. She was just like so young, probably barely seventeen. Honestly, she looks your age but she told me she was almost seventeen when I ask where her parents were. You can pass easily for seventeen, I can tell you."

"That's all good," Alex carefully sidestepped the bombardment of randomness for it was going to close to home, "But what did the girl do?"

"She was asking about the painting," Sebastien Morrison jerked his head toward the empty display, "I was about to explain then she just suddenly launched forward and hit me! She had a gun and she was holding it to me and say if I move, she'd kill me."

"Did anyone see you? What about security?"

"Some people screamed and they started running. The alarm sounded a little later," Sebastien nodded, "But by then the girl just grabbed the painting and run. Some guy tried to stop her but then he was knocked down. Luckily she didn't shoot."

"What did she look like?" Pen poised over the paper as if ready to stab someone, Alex asked professionally.

"Blond hair," Sebastien rubbed the side of his face where an ugly bruise was already forming and winced at the action, "A little shorter than you. Blue eyes. A little pale."

That narrowed it down to probably half of UK. Amazing.

"Is there anything significant about this painting? Why would she want to steal it?"

The man shook his head in a slight daze, "I don't know. It's just…art. This isn't even Mona Lisa, I don't know why anyone would steal it."

"I heard it was relatively new. Do you know where it came from?"

"I'm not sure," Sebastien thought it over, a small frown creasing his face and his hand unconsciously rubbing the bruise again, "If I remember correctly, it was a charity donation. A pretty cheap one, but the art strokes were exotic and rather special so we kept it and put it on display. But anyone doing a little research would know that it isn't some fancy painting dating back to renaissance or anything like it."

"Did anything else get taken?" Alex asked, his eyes scanning the blocked off area and listening to the obnoxious snaps of the cameras. Wolf was talking with some other officers, gesturing mildly with his hands around the building like a lost bee.

No, more like a lost…bird? Seagull? Pig? Ah, Wolf. More like a lost wolf.

Sebastien took a look around before shaking his head, "No, I don't think so. This painting was the only one."

"Can you show me the footage? We can get an APW or a post out if necessary," Alex asked.

The man nodded toward the backroom, "Yeah, it's in there."

"Lead the way, please."

The security room was relatively small and instead of the trillions of security screens usually seen in typical rooms, it had only four with each one divided into 16 smaller rectangles. Sebastien pulled up a chair and sat down and began rewinding the tape, his fingers flickering expertly across the keyboard.

"There," Sebastien paused the footage just before the figures could trip over walking backward and pointed at the screen as he enlarged it to full screen, "That's me there. And the girl came in at 10 o'clock direction."

A second later, the girl did. The footage, surprisingly, was colored but there was no audio. A plus and a minus, and that just evened it out to another sad failure in technology securities. Alex watched as the girl came up to Sebastien. She had, indeed, blond hair but from afar, he couldn't see the color of her eyes.

"Can you zoom in a little closer?"

Sebastien did so that they were close enough to make out her face hazily but far enough that the color of her eyes remained a mystery. If there was one thing he learned today it was that TV shows were all lies. They just clicked the mouse and keyboards and be like _bamm_ , there goes your high-resolution all-enhanced detail from large blobs of pixels. Because the reality was, it was impossible to see a _goddamn_ person's face through the reflection of the car window on to the puddle through a glass cup hanging upside down some sort of chandelier or god knows what.

"Get her face as clear as possible," Alex instructed, "Without becoming too pixelated. I'd get it sent out and hopefully, someone would recognize her if not from her clothes."

"Got it."

The loud shrill ringtone from his phone shattered the silence and Sebastien's accusing glance made him grimace in apology. Whoever invented ringtone should just…stop inventing ringtones.

"Hello?"

"Where are you?" Ah, it was Wolf.

Alex leaned down and peered at the cameras before locating Wolf, "Above you."

The man actually looked up, scanning the ceiling for a moment before replying, "The fuck? Where are you, Mayford? I swear if you're-"

"I'm in the security room," Sighing slightly at Wolf's profanity with underage, Alex replied, "With Mr. Morrison."

"There's a witness saying he'd seen the suspect leaving the museum with the painting. We have her on the footage but we lost her at Eastland Intersection."

"Eastland again? That's creepy as hell."

"I want you to go check it out," Wolf instructed and Alex watched the man shifting as if suddenly realizing that Alex was watching his every move like a hawk waiting to pounce on a wolf. Hah, "Be careful, we don't know what we're dealing with yet. I'd assign you a partner tomorrow. But for now, watch your steps."

"A partner?"

"You missed my point entirely, Mayford."

"Wait, wait wait, a partner?" Alex cringed dramatically and Sebastien stared at him as if he had grown a fourth head, "I don't want a partner."

"Unless you want to die, the answer is yes, you will have a partner," Wolf slashed him down, "Now, go check it out."

"On it," Alex sighed before turning to instruct Sebastien, "Just sent me the footage, alright? You have my number."

Any other circumstances he would have made some unprofessional joke about having his number and how he was supposing bisexual, but with Wolf's glare literally burning through the security camera-he didn't know how-Alex saved the chit-chat for later.

* * *

About half a mile away from the intersection was the local lake, brimming with light in a blindly glaring way. The bright sunlight casted beautiful sprinkle lights on the water and the ripples sent them softly crashing onto the edge where the plants met the water. The air was fresh and the occasional squeal of the seagull was-

"Oh fuck this," Alex groaned, running a hand through his hair. If he had wanted to please his English teacher, he would have done this in class and not having an existential crisis at the lake. The truth was, the sun wasn't gentle, it wasn't warm, it was fucking blindly hot and glaring like the whole side of his face was getting scorched off.

The search had turned out pretty fruitless. The intersection was still the same old intersection. The first thing that hit him was the smell of blood. It was always there, it was never wiped clean from decades of dead bodies. No one lived there anymore and there was no other possible witness that could have seen her.

The government had already given up on installing security cameras because every time they would be smashed to pieces within the first few days. Murderers had a knack for sniffing out security cameras and the likes. He should hire one to be his bodyguard, who knew maybe someone would plant a listening device on him.

A distant away, some animal howled and Alex turned, his feet grinding against the sand and the bare grass on the edge. The howling turned into short barks and Alex shielded his eye to look into the distance. There, a little further down the road, was a silhouette, darken due to the glare of the sun behind it. It barked, its tail wagging and Alex sighed.

Well, even though he hadn't found his main suspect, he had found the wolfdog that ran loose. A dog for a psychotic and possibly crazy girl seemed more than fair.

"Come here, boy!" Alex called as he trudged toward the dog, feeling the sun dragging his soul out of him seconds by seconds, "C'mon, don't make me run. I'm gonna die if you make me run."

The dog moved. Not toward him, but away. Another heartfelt groan and Alex began to trot slowly toward the animal, "Come here, your owner's worried."

He made a clicking sound with his tongue and he could almost feel the dog's exasperated glance at the cliché noise, "Okay, fine, no clicking. What do you want?"

A pause, "You can't have my bone though."

The dog cautiously took a step toward him and Alex began walking again, brushing a strand of sweaty hair from his forehead, "That's it, good boy. Good boy…Good…No, don't run! Wait, hold up!"

Alex threw out the rest of his energy and went into a spring, chasing down the dog like a madman. If anyone saw him right now, they'd be so disappointed by his inability to chase down a mere dog. But he would have them know that wolfdogs ran the bloody hell fast.

A small click by his ear let him know that the earpiece was connected again. "You sound like you're having a heart attack, mate," God, Tom. Why?

"I'm," Huff, "Running," Alex growled out, "Jesus Christ just shut up," Puff, "Tom."

Tom snickered, "Missing old-school physical fitness, aren't you? Chin up, chest out, hands up, one two one two! Let's go, mate!"

"What do you want, Tom?" Alex gave up as he slowed down to a walk. Infuriatingly, the dog stopped and began walking toward him softly. Maybe he should ask Tom to rent a quick Dogs101 book from the local library, "Did you figure something out?"

"Well," Tom paused thoughtfully, "I figured out that ice cream sounds really nice at the moment. God, you don't know how hot it is today. It's bloody winter, after all, the sun can't just come out any bloody time he wants."

"'He'? Did you just assume the gender of the sun? God, I thought you were better, Tom," Alex grinned, shaking his head to no one as the dog came a little closer, "I'll talk with you later. I've got myself a dog right now."

"…"

"What?"

"Are you throwing me away for a dog now?" Tom accused, "We're so done, Al. We're done."

The line went dead again and Alex groaned, squatting down to catch his breath for a moment. And that was when he realized that something wasn't right. The dog was trotting faster toward him, its tail wagging in joy, and as he bent down, the shadow he casted was still standing upright.

And a moment later, he saw supernova. It might have been that, or someone had just hit him in the back of his head.

Oh fuck. Literal broad damn daylight robbing.

At least it was no longer so bright.

* * *

"Please, take a seat," Wolf instructed Sebastien Morrison, "I just want to ask you a few quick questions then you can be on your way."

Mr. Morrison took the seat across from his desk gratefully, "I'm happy to help out, but I've already told your officer everything about the museum robbery."

"It's not about that," Shaking his head, Wolf explained, "It's about your brother's death."

The man fell silent for a moment before he sighed, "Alright."

"Do you know what gang he was involved in?"

Shaking his head, the man met Wolf's eyes, "Nope. We agreed to never involve in each other's business. Well, like I told Officer Mayford, we're close, close enough that we know better than to bring our work into our life."

Wolf nodded slowly, "Where were you the night your brother was killed?" Keeping Mayford's words in mind, he added, "You're not a suspect. We just want to make sure, that's all."

"Well," Mr. Morrison frowned thoughtfully in recollection, sorrow evident in his eyes and posture, "I was at home. What time do you want to know?"

"About midnight to early morning," Wolf confirmed.

The man shifted, "I was probably asleep. Came back home a little late at eleven because we had to reorganize the museum for a children's viewing day in the upcoming week. I didn't even eat, I just fell straight asleep afterward."

"When was the last time you talk with your brother?"

At that, Mr. Morrison narrowed his eyes, "I don't mean to be disrespectful, but I've already told Officer Mayford almost everything including that. I'd really like to have some time alone to myself."

"I apologize," Wolf dipped his head slightly in acknowledgement, "I just want to make sure." Then something hit him and he asked, diverting off tangent, "You called him Officer Mayford. When he came to you, did he introduce to you as an officer?"

Strictly speaking, Mayford had quitted. He shouldn't be allowed to call himself an officer or it would be impersonating. Wolf grimaced slightly, a sense of foreboding overcame him.

"Yeah," Mr. Morrison looked confused then he chuckled slightly, "Well, at first I didn't believe him. He looked so bloody young to be in this sort of business. Then he made a phone call to his superior and then, well, I just believe him."

"His superior?"

"A Commander Harrison," Mr. Morrison recalled, "That man was genuinely concerned about Mayford too. I can't imagine having someone so young on the force. Someone's gotta watch out for that kid and I'm glad the commander's doing it."

"Commander Harrison?" Frowning, Wolf questioned the man, "You sure?"

"Yes," The man nodded, "Why?"

Wolf inhaled sharply, "We don't have any commander here by the name of Harrison. Are you sure it wasn't something else? Like Harold?"

"I'm sure the man said Harrison," Mr. Morrison was positive then he faltered, "…What does this mean?"

"This means," Wolf growled unhappily, "That Officer Mayford and I are going to have a very long chat."


	9. Train Wreck

A.N.: Ahahh, early update. Not exactly the ideal length, but gotta cut it off at the point.

* * *

"Crap, he's a police," The man swore loudly as he squatted down and flipped the man on the ground over.

It wasn't a man, it was more like a boy, fresh out of college. The second man behind him bent down, hugged the wolfdog that had run crashing into him, and leaned closer to the unconscious male on the ground.

"Doesn't he look familiar?" The first man asked, turning toward the second, "Hey, mind your tongue, wolf boy." The dog licked him again in affection and the second man pulled him back.

"Familiar?" The second man questioned, "Sit, boy. Good boy."

The man nodded, jerking a hand toward the body, "Yeah, doesn't he reminds you of John?"

He looked, "Damn, John's son? The one he talked about?"

"Alright, let's put him somewhere," The second directed, "We can't kill his kid."

"Bad timing," They heaved the boy up and rolled him to the edge, "Well, we can't just leave him unscathed. Roll him down the side."

"Hopefully John won't know," The first man grimaced as they observed their work, "That man's deadly protective of his son."

* * *

When Alex woke again, the first thing his mind registered was the light. It was almost dusk and the sun was shining its last pitiful orange rays on him from somewhere above, to the right. A wind blew and the light was flickering all of a sudden. Alex squinted and attempted to get up but the groaning pain in the back of his head had a different idea.

"God _dam_ mit!" Alex swore loudly as he thumped loudly back onto the ground, narrowly missing his head again on a protruding tree root that was edged painfully into his back. The air whooshed out of him like a sucker punch.

He glanced upward then groaned. He was at the bottom of some sort of steep slope. The wind blew again and the grass at the top waved cheerfully at his misfortune, sending lights flickering into his eyes in sadistic joy, momentarily blinding him again and he closed his eyes, "I'm telling you, grass, _stop_ , you're hurting my soul."

They ignored him.

His phone rang somewhere. Everywhere. The sound echoed in his brain. His hollow brain, Tom would snidely comment on his low intelligence and then Alex would spend the next minute trying to think of the best comeback. Usually, he couldn't.

The device stopped then it started again and this time, Alex pushed himself up in a slouched position, dragged himself to the tree half a meter behind him, and reached into his pocket to pull out the damn phone.

"Hello?" He groaned.

"Mayford," It was Wolf, great, "It's almost the next shift. I'd greatly appreciate if you'd kindly return the car."

"…"

"Where are you?" The commander questioned, noticing his silence. Alex would love to make a comment about how absolutely impossible to shut him up but then it would hurt his head too much.

And James would probably, no, _definitely_ , comment on how thinking would hurt his head too.

Alex glanced at the slope, "Uhh, the bottom of some slope."

" _Some_ slope? Do I want to know why you were there?"

"Well," Alex groaned painfully and loudly, loud enough for him to be afraid of himself. He sounded like a dying whale that was in the process of…severe dehydration, "I'd love to know that. But I'm still trying to wrap my head around it. Not literally, of course."

"Get yourself back to the station," Wolf ordered, "Then we can talk."

Alex eyed the slope gingerly before he spoke, "Can you hold on for a minute?"

"Why?"

"'Kay, thanks," Ignoring the man's question, Alex pocketed his phone and took a few steps back so that he was backed against the other side of the steep slope. He lowered himself before pushing off into a quick sprint, his shoes lingering on the side for less than half a second but it was enough time for his other foot to come up and leapt upward. For a moment, he was going vertical and then he was over and out of the steep valley, breaking his fall with a roll that temporarily blinded him as the shock wave reached his head.

He reached into his pocket as he rolled onto his back, a grin on his face, "Hey, I'm back."

"Do I want to know what happened?"

Alex sat up and took in his surroundings. He was merely a few dozen meters away from his car and from where he was attacked by some random dude, or dudette, off the street. The wolfdog was nowhere to be seen.

Kinda like Hansel and Gretel and the bread trail trap. Wait, wasn't it Hansel and Gretel who put the bread trail? It wasn't a trap, now that he thought about it. He frowned. He was using the wrong analogy. How about Tom and Jerry? The mousetrap that-

"Mayford, you still there?" Wolf asked exasperatedly, "Where are you?"

"Just about half a mile from the intersection," Alex commented, feeling his whole body groan like a mechanical dog out of oil as he stood up, swaying unsteadily on his feet and examined the bruise on his arm and checking out the other one on the side of his face through the reflection of his phone.

Now he knew that when people stared intensively at their phone, they might not really be texting. They probably were too entranced by their reflections to notice anyone else though Alex wouldn't call it narcissistic exactly.

It wasn't being narcissistic if it was the _truth_.

"You've been gone for four hours," Shifting something in the background, the commander commented, "I hope you've found something worth your time."

"I saw the wolfdog," Alex offered as he took a stop and nearly hissed out loud like a Harry Potter basilisk. The adrenaline was wearing off and he knelt down slowly and rolled up his pants to examine the bruise. God, why did bruises have to look so damn blue-ish purple? It was ugly. No amount of sunscreen could make this look natural.

"And?"

"It ran away," Grimacing slightly, Alex stood up again as he made his way toward the car, "And then somebody attacked me. That or I knocked myself in the back of the head and just rolled down the side and landed in a trench-like valley slope thing. I'm just glad that it wasn't a running creek."

"Someone attacked you?" Wolf repeated, mildly surprised, "Did they take anything?"

Alex did a search, "No, I don't think so."

Heaving a sigh, the commander said, "Come back to the station. We have a lot to talk about."

Alex felt rather apprehensive as he pulled open the car door with one hand and got in, carefully minding his injured leg. He now understood the feeling of those cranes as they hopped one foot around the pond, "Alright, on my way."

He ended the call first and stowed his phone away. The loud rumbling of car tires on the road drew his attention. The sun had descended perhaps a little more down the distant mountain and that was why he knew that the intense light shining his way wasn't from the sun. The car screeched to a stop before Alex's, Mayford's, patrol car with its blinding headlight that gave Alex a migrate. Migraine, he meant migraine.

Fletcher got out of the car followed by Tom and James. The man strode to his car upon spotting him and knocked on the window until Alex rolled it down, "Hey Fletcher, what brought you here?"

The man stared at him for a good long while before the man reached inside the car, unlocked the door, pulled it open, and dragged Alex out by his arm.

"God mate," Tom and James ran up to him, their eyes narrowed in concern, "You look like shit."

"I'd take that as a compliment," Alex's face was jerked to the side as Fletcher placed a hand beneath his jawbone and turned his head to the side to examine the bruise, "Dude, it actually hurts. You're pinching my jaw like a crab with crab _cancer_."

"What happened?" The assassin asked as he released him, giving him a quick once-over with his eyes before they settled on Alex's awkward position favoring his left leg.

"Some guy hit me over the back of my head," Alex complained, rubbing his head in distress, "Then they probably threw me down that trench slope thing over there." Fletcher followed his gaze, a little amused, "Then I woke up like four hours later, feeling like shit."

"Do you have any idea who they are?" The assassin asked as Tom gently probed Alex's face, causing the latter to wince and swatted the hand away in irritation.

"No," Alex shook his head slightly, "They probably weren't robbers because I still have everything. They didn't kill me either. Perhaps a street-robbery went wrong?"

Tom and James's eyes held the words 'I wish' as Alex solemnly met their gaze, "I don't think so, Al. No one's that stupid enough. They'd probably kill you instead of dumping your live body in the hole."

"Gee, thanks," Alex remarked dryly, crossing his arms, "I feel so wanted. Now can I go? Wolf's meeting me back at the precinct."

"We'll meet you back at the house," Fletcher nodded.

Tom mock bristled like a defensive porcupine-in-distress, "Hey dude, Fletcher emo-dude, it's not 'the house', it's 'Tom, James, and Al's house'. It isn't your house, don't get so acquainted with it. Don't want you to steal it away like you did with Al."

Fletcher gave him a wry look before making his way to his car without another comment. Somehow, the remaining three could easily hear the 'I don't have time for this' in the man's posture. Tom and James chased after the assassin after bidding Alex a quick goodbye.

" _Hey_ , don't ignore me!"

Alex pulled open the car door and stepped inside, wincing at the movement, and started up the engine. Fletcher had already pulled away with Tom and James probably starting another pointless heated argument in the backseat.

His phone rang again and he didn't need to see the screen, psychically, of course, to know that it was Wolf, "Where are you?"

"Just coming out of the bend," Alex said as he accelerated and turned the corner. Up ahead, the Eastland Intersection appeared and soon he found himself zooming past it.

He was probably over the speed limit. Probably. He didn't dare look at the speedometer because he knew he was over the speed limit. Oh, the joy of it.

"The next shift has started," Wolf said and Alex heard the rustling of paper in the background. That man was always rustling paper when he was on the phone, was it some sort of code? Perhaps rustling paper equaled someone was going to kill you. Or something, "Why don't you meet me at the parking lot?"

"Sure," Alex shrugged out of habit. His shoulder screamed at his inconsiderate mind and made him reconsider. Damn, even his shoulder had more common sense than him.

The commander ended the call and Alex pocketed his phone, gradually slowing down as he entered the living area of the city. Because you could blast through the land of the dead without a care since they were, well, dead. Besides, they might enjoy the change of wind speed for once. Nothing beat wild wind on a warm sunny day. But no matter what you did, you could not blast through living zone because people got scared by fast-moving cars easily and they'd sue the money out of you for scaring their precious screwdriver.

Alex pulled into the parking lot and stopped the engine before stepping out. Wolf was a few car next to him and the man walked to meet him.

"You look like shit."

What _was_ it with people and the phrase 'you look like shit'? Maybe it was just him but Wolf and Tom seemed to have a common sense of humor today.

"Well," Alex shut the door and locked the car, "I'd take that as a compliment." Again.

"You hurt?" A grunt accompanied the rather rhetorical question

Alex made the most lovesick face he could manage, "Aww, Wolf, you _care_."

"It's Commander," The man corrected him, "Kid."

Ah, the banter.

"So what did you want to talk to me about?" Alex leaned against the car and crossed his arms, putting the weight on his left leg and letting his right rest easily on his left.

It didn't escape Wolf's sharp gaze but the man made no move to question it, "I'm going to ask you one simple question and I want you to tell me the truth."

"I'll try," Alex shrugged. As long as it wasn't some question like 'are you the parkour kid' he would be fine.

Oh boy, how wrong he was.

"When you talk with Sebastien Morrison," Wolf began carefully, "You introduced yourself as an officer."

Fuck.

"Yes," It wasn't a question but Alex felt obliged to answer it.

"And when he asked for confirmation, you gave him someone to call. A Commander Harrison."

It still wasn't a question, "Yes."

"But Harrison isn't one of us."

No answer. It wasn't a question, but nor was it a statement. It was somewhere in between. A budding suspicion that the man seemed to be _afraid_ to voice.

"And here is my question," The man shifted, his gaze captured Alex's and held it, daring him to look away, daring him to make the first move, and daring him to lie to him, "Who _are_ you, Mayford?"

Someone once told him that the three questions-who am I? Where am I going? Where did I come from?-were the principle fundamental questions that every human would ask themselves sooner or later.

Who was he?

Was he Alexander Rider, son of John Rider?

Was he the Parkour Kid?

Was he Harry Mayford the police?

Or was he all three of them at the same time? Coexisting yet knowing that he could only be one of them at any given time. But who was he right now? Wolf called him Mayford, should he answer as Mayford?

"What do you mean?" His voice sounded weird. It wasn't dry or anything, it merely sounded off-tune, like a piano that was neglected for too long in a corner. It was still the same piano, but it didn't produce the same sound anymore.

"I mean exactly what I asked," Wolf crossed his arms, waiting patiently for an answer.

Just go away. Find something to do. Anything.

"I'm Harry Mayford. Twenty-two. Police."

There was no opinion in this question, Alex knew as soon as the man posed the question. The right answer was the answer that Wolf wanted to hear and the wrong ones were what the man didn't want to hear. People were so easily manipulated.

"And care to explain this Commander Harrison?" It was the right answer and Alex could almost hear the congratulation horn somewhere in the distant and for a moment, all he could see and imagine were green lights flashing in his vision.

They never wanted to hear what they didn't want to hear. Humans were fragile beings, they cared too much, they were selfish, and they sometimes failed to see the larger picture slapped right before their face.

 _Wake up._

"I, uh," Then it was back to doing what Alex was the best at. Lying. Making up stories. Entertaining people with lies, "Look, I really wanted to get to the bottom of the thing and I knew I couldn't call you."

"Who is Harrison?"

A voice recording, a fake person, a paid accomplice, a one-time acquaintance. Someone. The possibilities flickered across his mind yet he found himself replying with the truth, "A friend."

"The one who you live with?" Wolf seemed to remember the conversation they had before and Alex felt his hands moving before he even knew.

Clench. Unclench. Clench. Unclench. He felt his nail-biting into his skin and moments before it could draw blood, they unclenched, leaving no more than the ghost of a mark of their presence.

"Yes."

"I need a full name," Wolf pulled out a small notepad and a pencil and waited expectantly, "I can't let this slide, Mayford."

Alex didn't respond.

"This is standard protocol," The commander tried to reassure him, "A quick talk, record it down, and then it'd be stored away in a cabinet far down the file room."

No.

"Nothing will come to your friend."

 _No_.

"Mayford," Finally, the man snapped and moved forward, in the end, he had crossed the man's line.

Braced against the side of the car, Alex snapped back defensively, "He has nothing to do with this. Leave him alone."

The sun was almost gone and out of the corner of his eyes, he took note of its slow descent. Soon, there would be darkness, and Alex wanted nothing more than being back at Tom's house enjoying a warm steamy dinner. Tom would complain about James' culinary skills, James would shot back with a witty response. Fletcher, what would Fletcher do? The man would probably observe and then Tom would remember that there was an assassin in the house and then he would be best mate with James again to rally against Fletcher.

God, he wanted to be there. To be with them. To be anywhere but here.

" _Mayford_ ," Names held power, yet for the moment, Alex felt nothing more than a small tug at the name, "This is standard protocol. Don't make me track him down. You won't like it."

His hand moved on their own. There was a loud noise, then there was pain: jarring from his hand to his wounded shoulder. His fingernail must have bit into the soft skin of his palm for he could feel the cut in his tightly clenched fist. It took him a moment to recognize what he did. The police car behind him cried out in alarm against the physical assault. It wasn't hard enough to make a dent, but it was hard and loud enough for Wolf to falter.

"Leave him alone," Alex growled, "Leave him the _fuck_ alone!"

Then suddenly, it wasn't Wolf standing there but Fletcher, smiling coyly at him and congratulating him on finding two partners for his heists. Then it was him back at the corridor, his gun poised. The boy's back was turned and his chest was heaving from the run. The boy looked scared. A shot rang out then the boy crumpled like a doll without support. Suddenly, it was the man back at the scorpion house, clutching James in his arm and a gun pointed directly to the temple. James's scared look, Tom's panicked ones, and his wildly beating heart.

 _Why_?

Why _him_?

Why _them_?

"He didn't do anything," His shoulder shook but it wasn't from tears nor was it anger. It could have been the pain for all he cared, "He didn't do anything to _you_. All he did was to be by my side. He didn't deserve any of this."

"What are you talking about?" Wolf gripped him back to reality, "Mayford, are you alright?"

His shoulder shook again, and this time he was sure it was from suppressed hysterical laughter. Was he alright? He supposed he was as 'alright' as anyone in his position, whatever the hell that was.

"Fine," He shook his head and uncurled his fist, feeling the blood seeping out from the cut and for a moment, it felt good to finally move his fingers away from the wound, "Fine. Sorry for the outburst. Probably mental trauma or something. Must have hit my head harder than I thought."

He laughed. The piano was on-tune again and the sound echoed briskly throughout the marble room.

"You need to get checked out," Wolf advised gingerly, finally pocketing his notepad and reached out.

Alex shifted, pretending as if he was checking out the small dent he made on the police car. Wolf's hand met empty air as Alex whistled, "Wow, I hit pretty hard. Hey, how much do you think this would cost me to repair?"

"Mayford," Wolf said quietly, "That's enough."

Alex fingered the edge, "Probably five hundred, eh?"

"Mayford."

He squatted down, ignoring the pain blossomed in his right leg like silver needles. It traveled upstream and his brain screamed at him, it called him an idiot, but somehow, he tuned it out, "Damn, at least I didn't hit the handle."

"Mayford," Wolf insisted.

Alex stood up and turned around, finally meeting the man's eyes, "What?"

Something flickered in the man's eyes, it was there, and then it wasn't, like the quick swirl of a koi underneath the moonlight. The pond would ripple, then it would settle again.

" _Goddamnit_ Mayford," Wolf grabbed him, pulled open the car door, and set him down on the seat, carefully minding his head, "Listen, I don't know what _shit_ you've been through, and I don't want to know. Whatever it is, I guess it's _fucked_ _up_. Fine, I'd let you slide this time for this Harrison, I'd even let it slide that you pretend to be a police officer when confronting Morrison, but I can't let it slide that you, someone from my precinct, might be in danger. So _excuse me_ if I'm trying to do my job to protect my officers."

A pause.

"I'm not trying to aggravate you," Wolf continued, "I'm not trying to be your enemy. I'm only trying to make sure that anyone that you come in contact with is trustworthy. I don't want you, or anyone from my precinct, to end up at the Intersection dead one day because I can't protect them. That I couldn't fucking _get_ to them in time."

The man's voice wavered, trembled, then shook like a trembling leaf. The sun was gone and the police department lit up and illuminated Wolf's face by a fraction. The man's jaw was set and he seemed to be trying to find words to say but failing. Everything seemed to be already said yet nothing seemed to be conveyed.

"I was in the SAS," Wolf finally continued, "Two years. I'm on leave right now, taking time for my arm to heal. I can be called back anytime, this job as the commander is only a favor for my boss. I know what it feels like to _lose_ people, Mayford, and I hope you never have to experience that. I know what it feels like to be a step too late, and I _goddamn_ well hope that it won't happen again. So believe me when I say I'm not your enemy."

Alex looked away, bowed his head, then suddenly, he stood up.

"Mayford?"

He made his way to the precinct, "Where are you going?"

Alex flashed the car keys, "Returning this. The next shift would need it."

He paused in his steps, feeling that the commander had more to say. A long pause, "Think about what I said, Mayford. I mean it. You can believe it, or don't believe it. I don't give a flying fuck right now, but I want you to know that I'm not your enemy."

The irony.

The man was the one that was hunting him down. The man was the one that he was trying to run from. From their very first meeting, they were enemies.

Alex laughed and something felt off again, "Alright, Commander, I gotcha. See you tomorrow?"

"…Alright."

The street lamp beside them flickered on with a sizzle, the sound of something being zapped was heard and as he made his way to the door, limping heavily on his left, he could feel Wolf's gaze following his shadow as it made its way hobbling to the doors.

He felt like a train wreck.


	10. The Beaver and the Lion

A.N.: Bad news, I'm procrastinating again. Good news, here's an _update_. A longer one. A really long one. Okay, not really, but god, was this one fun to write. So recently, I've become re-obsessed with Obi-Wan & Qui-Gon prequel stories (and I suddenly do have the urge to begin writing in that fandom again but orz I'm such a procrastinator), and now my procrastination is getting worse.

* * *

It had been exactly midnight when Alex found the confidence to play the tape Fletcher gave him five days ago. Now, it was three in the morning and he could still feel the tremor in his hands as darkness engulfed him, the computer screen had long darkened in rejection of his unresponsiveness, and the sun didn't dare to show at such early hours.

Finally, he moved. Reaching into his drawer, he pulled out the photograph of him and his father and in the darkness, he felt the edge, feeling the slight dent, chiseled away when his father accidentally dropped it on the ground and felt reassurance flooding him. His father did not die at the time of the videotape. His father had spent all of Alex's life, up to a few months before, with him. He was not dead, shot in the back by some secret agency across the Albert Bridge in a blurry scratched-out videotape.

Clutching the photograph, he must have fallen asleep because the next thing he knew was the sun glaring at him through the unveiled edge of the window. The frame was loose in his grasp. But it was there. His father's smile was still brilliant like he remembered. Getting off his bed, Alex quickly dressed upon ejecting the CD and placing it gingerly back into the casing, feeling as if he had committed the biggest sin of his life.

Scorpia was ruthless. If anything, that was what he had learned from the neatly fabricated plastic disk.

Giving a weary sigh, Alex descended the stairs and reached the dining table. Tom, James, and Fletcher looked up and were about to offer a good-morning when they suddenly snorted. He paused in confusion before catching his reflection in the mirror.

"Laugh," Alex groaned at the stiff face of his three companions as they finally greeted him, Tom and James looked like they were ready to topple over in glee and Fletcher had the expression of exasperation, "go ahead. Laugh your stupid heads off at my misfortune."

Tom did.

Fletcher got up and poked gently, yet irritatingly, at the cut and the bruise that littered on the left side of his face. Whoever threw him down that slope was going to get hell. The man reassured him, "it's not that bad."

"Yeah, and I'm the king of crabs," Alex muttered as he took a seat, checking out his reflection in the window as he tilted his head sideways, "at least it's not swollen and all disgusting. It's not half bad."

"You look like a discolored creature," Tom explained, "one spot on the side is heavily bruised. It's like a round circle of blue and purple."

"Keep talking and you will have an identical patch."

"You're not that precise, Al," Tom sighed in mock exasperation as he clapped his friend on the shoulder, "so how do you feel?"

"I feel like someone chucked me down a slope," Alex rolled his eyes as he gently extended his right leg, feeling the muscles pull in pain and slowly retracted it with a wince, "how do you think I feel?"

"I hear The Flash has amazing regeneration power," James quipped, rather _irrelevantly_ , as he munched on his bagel. The smell of garlic reached him and his eyes twitched unconsciously, "but Al's not the Flash."

"Exactly," Alex drummed his fingers on the table and turned to Fletcher, "have we made any progress on the clues yet?"

They seemed to be running around in circles the past days, trying everything but it always ended up with nothing-unless they count that at noon when Tom had fallen asleep and had dreamed that all the clues lead to McDonald's and in which he had made everyone go to McDonald's with him in search for the answer.

"No," frowning, Fletcher shook his head, "the numbers don't match anything reasonable in the government database."

"You said there are more players," Alex paused, "other than us, are the other recruits from around here? Do they _have_ to be from here?"

"No," Fletcher confirmed, nodding slightly as he began to follow the rather depressing train of thoughts, "they're all over UK," they met eyes, "so it might not be in this area, is that what you're saying?"

"It can be in US for all we know," Alex nodded and pursed his lips, "did anyone mention anything about boundaries and rules?"

Fletcher chuckled, "there are no rules in Scorpia's game."

Chucking back the rest of the water, Alex stood up and grabbed his coat, "I'll see if I can figure it out on the way," he paused and turned to Tom, "you two should go back to school. People get suspicious."

Tom snorted, "yeah? Well, if they throw you picture in school database, they'll find your record as well."

"But you took care of it," Alex neatly slid it into the slot, "so no problem there. I just don't want the police questioning you two. They've seen your face, Tom. Once they get suspicious of me, they'll start digging."

"Okay," Tom agreed grudgingly, "we go back to school. But Al, what if you need us? Directions, hacking, and such, I can't do it in school."

"Then I'll try to stay off the trouble radar."

James, at that, snorted, "you are at the _center_ of that radar, mate."

* * *

"Mr. Morrison," Alex greeted the man as he walked into the museum. The crime scene tape was gone but the four poles surrounding the scene was still there, warning any visitors that contaminating a crime scene was considered an offense.

"Officer Mayford," the man turned from where he was in the process of logging in visible evidence on a sheet of paper clipped to a clipboard, "how can I help you?"

"Just a few more questions," he smiled disarmingly as he buttoned his coat, "that's all. If you have time…?"

"Can we talk while I work?" Sebastien suggested, gesturing towards his clipboard, "I need to finish a perimeter check on all other paintings. My manager wants to make sure that nothing else has been contaminated or moved."

"Of course," he dropped into steps beside the man, "what can you tell me about this painting?"

A note, a check mark, as the man replied, "nothing much, like before. It was fairly new, not much of a historical artifact. Have I told you about the history of the painting?"

"No," Alex said curiously, "but I heard it was about the Expedition."

"Yes," Sebastien turned, his love for historical artifacts and stories evident in the gleam of his eyes, "a quite remarkable painting. It was donated by a kind gentleman awhile ago. While it isn't what this museum usually accepts-frankly, it isn't even qualified to be within the gallery-but we didn't have the heart decline it with the number of historical references and mind-blowing detail," he turned to Alex, his pen poised as if ready to attack the paper but his stilled hands drew a different story, "Every brush stroke was there for a reason and every stroke needed to be there. The brushes used varied in sizes. The ocean was a single large thick brush stroke, the ticks of the brush brought out the texture and the top of the mast was the thinnest of all, a mere dot with a fine-point brush that I'm afraid can only be used once if not carefully washed and taken care of. It is a masterpiece that will take centuries before people see its significance."

The painting seemed to come to life in his mind-though not as colors and the faint smell of oil, but as structural blueprints, mapping every mentioned detail to something of his own database in an attempt to understand the apparently-so innate power behind the artist.

Alex's half down-cast eyes flickered upward as pieces began to connect, completing the puzzle from an unbelievable perspective that he otherwise had never considered before. Of course. Of course.

"1451," Alex turned, "does that mean anything to you?"

Sebastien regarded him strangely as if the question was within expectation yet at the same time far from the paramount situation presented before them, "no, should I?"

"Does it relate to the painting in any ways," he added in deferential, prompting the man to reconsider his answer, "a date, perhaps? Of significance?"

"A date," Sebastien contemplated, a frown marring his brows, "are you perhaps talking about the year Christopher Columbus was born?"

Precisely what Fletcher and they had started with and exactly where they were stuck at. If it weren't for the situation they were in, Alex would have extolled the gratuitous amount of excessive planning Scorpia had done. Just how in the world did Fletcher piece together the first five puzzles if they were as hard as this? Or perhaps the difficulties had escalated.

"What about VLV?" turning to follow the man's rather brusque stop before the next painting, Alex redirected the questions.

"VLV…" he shook his head, "nothing pops, I'm sorry," marking up another sheet of paper, Sebastien questioned, "is this somehow related to the investigation?"

"Yes," Alex said without hesitation, fabricating the tale even as he spun it to the man, "we believe this robbery might be linked to one of our ongoing investigations," hesitance, "I'm afraid that this might only be the beginning of a series of unfortunate events."

Sebastien's face reflected that of a man who had taken in the information at its face value but that was what Alex had wanted. Without the clandestine identity he held or the aid of an assassin, no average citizens should ever have the train of thoughts he had.

"There will be more thefts?" Clearly worried, the words held a different connotation to the manager of the museum.

Tired of hiding for once, Alex's cerebration made him reply what he would probably regret in a very near future, "it extends a lot further than that."

"What do you mean?" His reply brought up more questions than he had otherwise intended.

"The Parkour Kid," Alex sighed as if letting go of the pent-up wad of emotions clogging his heart, "he is also related to the whole robbery investigation," he began pacing and Sebastien watched him, "there seem to be a larger influence behind him and the disappearance of this painting. It is as if someone out there is coercing them into committing these crimes."

"Do you know who this…someone is?" Hesitance evident in his voice, Sebastien asked.

Frowning unconsciously, the crease on his forehead tarnished his brilliant features, "perhaps. I have an idea," his eyes sharpened instantly, "but there is nothing I can do. We will have to wait for the future to progress."

Sebastian turned the paper over in his clipboard and with slight difficulties, readjusted the paper without tearing the thin material, "the Parkour Kid returned the money. Will this…girl thief return the painting as well?"

"That I don't know," Alex shook his head then was quick to reassure the man, "but we will let you know first thing if any news about it pops up."

"Thank you."

Alex smiled, "that'd be all. Thank you, as well, for your time, Mr. Morrison."

"Likewise."

* * *

VLV.

For all he knew, it could have stood for Very Large Vendor among billion other possibilities that were flying, ricocheting occasionally, in the limited space of his mind. Because face it, he was not a master at Scrabble, he could barely spell _arachnophobia_ correctly half the times and he shouldn't even commence on his, well, _sad_ list of manageable vocabulary list. Therefore there were possibly another two billion possibilities to the arrangement of VLV. That was _if_ it were an abbreviation at all.

"If you think any harder," Alex jerked as if electrocuted in the worst possible way when Wolf spoke up, "I'm afraid your mind will explode, Officer Mayford."

Running a hand through his hair, Alex groaned, "good morning, sir."

The man zeroed in on the colorful bruise on the side of his jawline and arched an eyebrow while keeping a perfectly stoic posture, "you look better."

The intrepid and brazen candor demonstrated the _absolute_ authority of the house and just _who_ the absolute authority of Mayford was. Crossing his arms in _Zen_ -ful acceptance and trying to forget the rather humiliating outburst he had yesterday at the parking lot, Alex acquiesced, "I do. I do look better. Thank you."

Neither looked willing to breach the thick-like-butter tension in the air and so neither decided to take a poke at the bubbling presence. Wolf, with alacrity, redirected the direction before everything could fall into either an awkward confrontation neither wanted to have at ten thirty-two in the morning or another full-blown argument that would probably have them put on probation or extended leave, "have you ever heard of someone named Julia Rothman?"

Alex's eyes sharpened and his action tensed more than he had wanted to, "Julia Rothman?"

"Yes," the man watched his action in interest, "you know her?"

"I know _of_ her," Alex shook his head, "what about her?"

"Remember the maniac who nearly released the scorpions?" Wolf explained, "he confessed to the crime and told us that," the commander paused, eyeing him critically as he announced the information, "this Julia Rothman is forcing him to commit the act by holding his wife and his son hostage."

Alex willed himself to stay still, "blackmailing, _huh_."

"Doesn't that sound familiar?" So that was what the man was playing at. Putting his foot on it, Alex arched an eyebrow, "no. Should it?"

Sensing the tender path they were getting closer to, Wolf pulled back before the bridge could collapse, "the wife and child are both at his house. I suspect this woman is watching them somewhere so that she did not have to alarm the public or the police by whisking them away."

"And you've sent a few officers undercover to retrieve them," Alex suddenly found it hard to swallow, "did the man mention seeing his wife and child since the woman took them hostage?" He paused, "I mean, has the man ever return home?"

"No," Wolf confirmed, "he paid for a hotel room. Apparently, this woman forbids him from visiting his family or she will kill them."

Wolf sounded awfully sure and Alex asked, "how do you know he's telling the truth?"

"I didn't," the man eyed him, "until you looked like you saw a ghost when I mentioned her name. I honestly wouldn't have really believed the absurdity of his confession but then I remembered you. Frankly, thinking about blackmailing made me thought immediately about you," at Alex's narrowed eyes, Wolf did not back down, "I guess I struck gold, didn't I?"

"How do you know the wife and child are still alive?" Alex ignored the jest.

Wolf opened his mouth as if trying to pull the topic toward the dangerous territory before he decided against it, weighing the consequences of the timing and coming to a decision, "we've just sent men over. She won't notice immediately. To the rest of the world, the officers are no more than door-to-door salesmen."

"And if she does notice?" Alex closed his eyes, shutting the world from the future he knew would happen.

"There will be a car waiting immediately outside. The officers are wearing vests and are armed. The car will take them to safety and then 6 will take charge from there."

"6?" His eyes flickered open in confusion.

"MI6," Wolf nodded, "this is starting to get out of our hands. And if what the man had said so far is true, I'm afraid this will escalate far beyond our reach."

"What do you mean?"

"There's something else that the man's not saying. My guess is that this is related to a larger scheme of undercover terrorism involving innocents," his gaze traveled to where the man was still being held in a downstairs waiting cell, "once we secure his wife and child, he will open up to us. There might be something larger brewing."

"And if it turns out to be nothing more than a normal crime?"

"I'll call off 6," Wolf shrugged and straightened, ready to leave, "better safe than sorry."

"Wolf…" exhaling softly, Alex buried his face in his hands for a moment and his comment was muffled by the barrier, "the wife and child won't make it out alive."

As if on cue, fast and curt footsteps were heard and three officers marched toward Wolf, still in their civilian clothes but the edge of the cloth and their hands were splattered with blood. Their face long and drawn, a sense of tender professional bereavement was evident, "sir."

"Officers," Wolf turned, taking in their appearance like Alex had done in one scrutinizing glance, "I take it there was trouble. Start from the beginning."

Hesitance colored the room, "sir…we arrived at the house but there was no response when we knocked so we forced entry."

Wolf looked displeased but that was the only reaction as the leading officer continued, "the wife was dead when we found her. The child was still alive when we found him…but the injury was too severe and he…died a moment later. The mother's body was still warm, which means she died only momentarily, perhaps five or so minutes, before our arrival. The only logical conclusion I reach is that someone must have tipped the killer off."

Wolf glanced sharply at Alex before asking, "what was the cause of death?"

"The wife had multiple gunshot wounds and child had one straight to stomach. The mother must have been trying to put up a fight to protect her child but…" the officer swallowed and dipped his head slightly, "I'm sorry, sir."

Closing his eyes for a moment, Wolf inhaled deeply, "no worries, officers. You're dismissed. Clean yourself up and you can report this in later."

"Yessir," they turned and left the way they came in, exchanging soft spoken words before disappearing over the edge.

Alex knew what was going to happen a moment before Wolf did, but nonetheless, he was still caught unprepared when Wolf grabbed him by his collar and pulled him upright so that he was pressed against the file cabins, "you better give me a damn good explanation, Mayford."

Wildly scrabbling for a foothold, Alex finally breathed in in relief as Wolf noticed the height difference and the air beneath Alex's feet and dropped him roughly back on the ground but not releasing his death grip on his collar. The material was twisted and bounded in his fist and Alex found himself eye to eye with the man. One deadly serious and the other oddly calm.

"About what?"

"You said the mother and child will not make it out alive," Wolf growled, "why? How did you know?" A pause, "did you have something to do with this?"

Fury and anger seeped through the man's incisive eyes and for a moment, Alex could understand the origin of his namesake. Wolf, at the moment, looked exactly like the predator facing the trespasser into his territory.

"No," Alex replied, keeping his tone calm against the raging sea, "I did some research into Scorpia."

The sudden tightening of his collar did more than enough to coerce him into continuing, "it stands for Sabotage, Corruption, Intelligence, and Assassination. It's an organization of contract assassins. They're ruthless."

"That doesn't explain why you knew the wife and child won't make it alive," Wolf's eyes finally stopped seething but suspicion colored the iris.

Alex looked away. His father seemed to have been involved in the whole Scorpia business even before months ago when he disappeared. His disappearance had deeper ties to Scorpia. Fletcher had told him his father was _hiding_ from Scorpia and that he was looking for something. Why was his father, a circumspect honest banker, be hiding from a callous organization like Scorpia? Why would Fletcher be in the possession of a tape recording his father's ' _death'_ dating nearly _sixteen_ years ago?

Scorpia was ruthless. That was the only result his mind would allow him to churn out.

"Scorpia is ruthless," he accepted it and redirected the answer to attach itself to Wolf's question, "I didn't _know_. I guessed. No organization like Scorpia will leave liable people alive."

"For all I know," Wolf released his collar, "you might be one of them. Why should I believe you?"

"Because," rubbing his neck and feeling liberty slowly flooding back to him, Alex indulged himself in a flash of humor, "in a land of myth and a time of magic, the destiny of a great kingdom rests on the shoulders of a young boy…his name-Mayford."

"I'll put a bullet through your goddamn thick head if you quote Merlin one more time," Wolf grunted but somehow, the answer seemed sufficient. For the moment, "6 will be here anytime. I want you to present your findings to them."

"But…" Alex trailed off as Wolf shot him a glance, "Yessir."

A silence settled over them and Wolf seemed to be racking his brain inside out to find something to break the solemn and eerie reticence that Alex seemed to have settled himself into, "how's the investigation with Morrison going? How's the leg? I hope you haven't knock yourself out again."

"No sir," Alex sighed before settling himself on the edge of the table for Wolf had taken his chair, "my leg's fine, thank you very much, but the case is not. I felt like I hit a dead end."

Wolf eyed him thoughtfully, "if it's anything, the post you put out for the girl had results. We have a last-seen address."

"That is something," Alex felt a smiling lighting up his face, "what's the address?"

The commander shook his head in refusal, declining Alex the information, "6 will be here anytime soon. I want you to be present before you leave."

A flash of annoyance but Alex quickly suppressed it. Wolf held the upper hand here. Besides, MI6 might offer him valuable information regarding Scorpia that might lead him to his father's whereabouts and the state of his quest, "all right. But can I at least have the address so I can map out the surrounding?"

Wolf snorted, "and as soon as I turn my back, you'll be off in a squad car. I think not, Mayford. I will give you the address after the meeting."

About to retort, Alex bit himself off as he noticed the incoming entrance of the three formally-clad MI6 personnel. Wolf noted his brusque ending and turned, following his gaze before hurriedly walking up to them and introducing himself, gesturing toward his office.

The woman in the center, clearly the head of all three, turned toward Alex and in the close proximity, it carried clearly, "ask him to join us."

"I already did, ma'am," came the reply, then Wolf turned to him and jerked his head toward his office. Alex nodded in acknowledgment and eased himself off the table, rubbing the soreness out of his back. Damn, he was getting _old_.

As soon as he entered Wolf's office, the man pulled down the blinds and gestured for the officials to take a seat. They declined and instead Alex found himself stuck in a quiet scrutiny of everyone to each other. What was it that his former English teacher had told him? Males always end up sizing everyone up in a room and deciding who he could take on and who he couldn't in case things went south. While the two men on each side of the woman eyed him, the woman merely cast him a quick glance before diverting her attention to Wolf.

"Commander," she greeted, "what can you tell us about this case?"

"A week ago," Wolf began, his posture stiff and in attention and Alex could suddenly see the former soldier in the stoic form, "the man we have in custody, James Thompson, disrupted public peace in a local zoo by attempting to unleash the scorpions…"

Alex smoothed his features over the smirk. _Disrupted_ public peace. _Unleash_. Such _formality_. He would have tsked and shaken his head in mock wonders if he weren't in the presence of MI6.

"...confessed," Wolf was saying, "and we sent teams to retrieve his wife and child. But they were both dead-gunshot wounds-when my officers arrived. They believe it was a leak of information."

"An accomplice?" She asked, "from inside?"

"Possibly."

"It could have been a listening device," Alex said quietly then immediately wish he hadn't ever made his presence known. Instantly, four pairs of eyes sharpened and turned toward him as if eyeing the helpless…beaver on a butcher's slab.

Wait.

 _Beaver_? What for fuck's sake was a helpless _beaver_?

"That's possible," the woman said, now giving him her _undivided_ attention, "tell me what you think."

Wolf opened his mouth as if wanting to object but a sharp glance shut him up and he offered Alex the floor, his eyes pitying him, "well," Alex began slowly, pushing away the image of an offended beaver from his mind, "the officers mentioned five or so minutes from the time of death to time of arrival, which is about the time it took to travel from police station to the house, give or take a minute."

She nodded encouragingly at his pause, "go on."

"If the officers left immediately after the man confessed and told them the address," Alex took a deep breath to still his nerves, "that means as soon as they heard the confession, the killer shot them," then he shrugged, trying to put as much distance to his claim from him as possible, "of course, someone might have called the killer immediately afterwards, which would mean it was someone from the inside, probably someone who was watching the interrogation or was in the room."

Wolf straightened, "I was the only one in the room."

The woman finally turned toward the commander, "check the man for any listening devices. If he doesn't, find everything who is near the room at the time."

"Yes ma'am," Alex made to follow but the woman stopped him, "Officer Mayford, I want to talk with you."

Pausing at the door, Wolf turned and frowned, "do you need me?"

"No," came the curt reply, "leave us."

Hesitance colored his next words, "yes ma'am."

The door swirled open then clicked shut, the blinds fluttered in a string of metallic plastic before stilling. And then it was just the four of them in the room. Three to one. His odds of surviving didn't look bright at the moment. Perhaps if he…His attention roamed the room without his gaze leaving the woman. There was a window. He could throw himself out, probably ending up killing himself, in the end, either way.

There was also a stapler on the table. He could stab them all with staplers if things got out of hands. Then he noticed the guns in both of the silent men's waistband, revealed when they shifted in their stiff attention. He hadn't really listened in physics, but he was pretty sure bullets from a gun could go faster than _staples_ from staplers. And deadlier too.

"Relax," the woman decided to step back. Wise decision, because Alex was sure if he fainted, he could be heading straight for the woman, "I'm Mrs. Jones and I'm deputy head of MI6."

"I'm Harry Mayford," he managed gracefully with what he called a manly timid voice but what Tom would laugh and call a squeak.

"No," the woman said without missing a beat, "you're Alexander Rider, son of John Rider. Currently in unknown affiliation with Scorpia and for unknown reason infiltrated the police ranks under the alias of Harry Mayford."

Alex felt his blood ran cold.

"Am I right so far?" Without waiting for a response, she continued, "you're also the infamous Parkour Kid, an endearing name I must comment."

They knew.

They knew everything.

"Who are you?"

"Mrs. Jones," she smiled and Alex could smell the peppermint in the air as she popped one into her mouth, "Deputy head of MI6. Now, I want to get down to business before Commander Wolf returns. I would like to offer you a job."

The agents behind her shifted so that their gun was even more visible. She smiled at the slight shift in his attention innocently, "I'd like you to work for me."

"What?" The request threw him off and his eyes narrowed in surprise and skepticism, "work for you?"

"Yes," she said calmly, "in return, we will aid you in finding your father."

"I am not looking for my father," Alex defended, feeling rather naked under her observant gaze. Just who was she? Of course, she was MI6, but how in the hell did she know so much about him when all he knew right now was that she was a bastard in disguise?

Of course, she was MI6. MI6 knew everything. He bet they knew even how many steps it took him to walk to his house or how many flakes of cereal he took every morning-trick question, cereal was never on his menu.

"Don't bother," she dismissed his weak claim with a sigh, "I know you are looking for him, however, what I want to know is why are you affiliating with Scorpia? I know you know how dangerous they are."

"I don't know what you're talking about," his attempt in making himself smaller failed miserably as she advanced on him, the agents followed with their hands on the holster in swift unison, "I have no idea who this…Scopedia is."

Mrs. Jones gave him a withering look, "at least lie better, Alex."

"I'm not Alex," he shot back, "I'm Harry. Harry Mayford."

She ignored him as she continued, "your father. He is one of my agents when he went undercover then disappeared three months ago."

His father was an agent? How fucked up this world was becoming.

He wanted to become a beaver all of a sudden.

"And we know where he is," Mrs. Jones said. It finally caught his full complete attention, "and we can tell you where he is if you help us out."

At least he knew his father was safe and sound.

"I don't know what you're talking about."

Suddenly, before he knew what had happened, he was pushed against the wall, an agent pressing his forearm firmly against his chest and holding a gun to his head as Mrs. Jones walked closer, "see, Alex? You can't oppose us. You can't oppose me. You will accept my offer."

"Or else?"

"Or else your police friend might just accidentally die in the line of duty."

"Police friend?" Confused, Alex asked.

"A certain Officer Fletcher Lionel."

Fletcher Lionel?

"Who?"

"Don't bother," she said, "we've seen you entering and exiting your friend's house with him. Recently transferred, wasn't he? He seems to play a very important part of your life."

Entering and exiting Tom's house with Fletcher who?

Wait. _Fletcher_?

They were threatening to _kill_ Fletcher.

They were threatening to kill _Fletcher_ for Heaven's sake.

They were threatening to kill a Scorpia assassin without knowing that he was from Scorpia.

In short, Alex was on the brink of hysterical laughter. But goddammit, he gotta ask how Fletcher managed to get himself an officer position and not bother telling him about it.

Alex smoothed his face into a calm neutral feature and let a small amount of pretended fear snake onto his face. Let's see how she wanted to play this, "w-"

He was cut short when Wolf entered, "we've found a…"

In swift seconds, the man took in the situation through a rather warped perspective and his gun was out, pointing at the agent in confusion and anger, "guns down! Guns down!"

"It's within control, Wolf," Mrs. Jones raised her hand and the agents stood back, holstering their gun like obedient puppets, "we were just having a conversation."

"With guns?" Wolf's gun was still pointed and his eyes narrowed, "what is happening?"

"Soldier!" Mrs. Jones snapped and Wolf froze, apprehension in his eyes then he slowly lowered the gun, "thank you. Tell us your findings."

Wolf holstered his gun but still glanced suspiciously between Alex and Mrs. Jones as he walked closer, "we found a listening device on the nape of his neck. It is concealed. Someone had taken extra time to do the job and James Thompson had no recall of ever having that added."

"Your suspicion was confirmed, Officer _Mayford_ " Mrs. Jones smiled dangerously at Alex, her eyes flashing in warning that was lost to Wolf, "we will take the device and examine it in our own lab."

Wolf handed it over gingerly within the plastic bag, "yes ma'am."

Then they were out the door, their boots and shoes clattering on the shiny wood floor, and leaving him alone with Wolf who looked like he was about to strangle him for answers. And for a moment, the only thing Alex could think about was beaver.

"Beaver," he said it. He finally said it. It felt so good, "beaver."

"Are you insane?" Wolf finally said wearily, leaning himself against the table and crossed his arms, feeling extremely relieved at the disarming of a potentially dangerous shoot-out between his boss and his colleague.

"I like beavers," without waiting for the commander's consent, Alex dropped himself onto the sofa, "did I mention how much I love beavers?"

"You have," Wolf growled, "what the fuck was that?"

"What was what? Beavers?"

"Why did they point their guns at you?" He snapped in frustration, "goddammit, what did you do this time, Mayford? I told you to keep your smart mouth to yourself or you will get in trouble. I believe that was exactly what happened."

How very far from the truth he was.

"We had a disagreement," Alex grinned, "it escalated."

"I can see that but what _was_ the disagreement?"

Alex mused it over, "they said they can find my beaver if I do something for them," Wolf arched an eyebrow, "but I said I don't need their help. They got frustrated and pointed their guns at me, threatening to kill my lion the same way," Wolf opened his mouth but Alex added before he could, "I said no because my lion is very powerful, they just don't know it." He nodded as if the explanation was satisfactory, "then you barged in."

"...That was fucked up," Wolf finally managed, "your life is one fucked up zoo."

"Yeah," Alex nodded, "It is," he then stood up, "I've gotta go find the missing girl. Care to give me the address now?"

* * *

ahahahhh, I've no idea what I'm doing anymore...Updates will be late, I'm sorry.

Also, this story should be taking place some year around 2005 - 2006 ish and I know Merlin came out in about 2008 so technically it's a messed-up timeline, but ehhhhh, I'm lazy...


	11. Family Feud

**Author's Note** : Ha, it's only been 13 days since my last update. I was so sure that it was going to be a month before then. Anyway, this chapter was sort of fun to write. Introducing a new character that will probably be staying with us for a few chapters. And I know you guys sometimes probably don't bother reading ANs so if you've gotten to here, please please please consider dropping a quick review at the end.

With that set, onward we go.

* * *

"You value your life," Rather awkwardly, Alex said, "and I value my physical health. So why don't we call it a truce and we can drink tea?"

A tense silence. Somewhere, a broken cord snapped, dropping the bookshelf all over the carpet and he winced.

The girl gave him the stink eye, her hand still poised over his stomach with a kitchen knife clutched tightly in her grip as Alex gave her the widest charming grin possible with his gun to her left shoulder, "My bullets will travel faster than your knife and while I might suffer from minor grazing from a kitchen knife, you will be an entirely different story."

She seemed to reconsider her options, actions and consequences flashing in calculating flickers in her eyes and she pouted with a suspicious glint in her eyes. Alex would really have laughed if only they weren't in such compromising position.

"Why should I trust you?" She grunted, a frown creasing her brow indecisively, mistrust heavy in her postures. Though Alex found it rather hard to think about anything other than her posture in the awkward position he found himself trapped in-his back to the floor and the girl's other hand gripping his upper arm in a death vice, "You will shoot me as soon as I get up."

"Well, I haven't yet," Alex shrugged, "Trust me, I haven't killed anyone."

"Oh yeah?" Her golden curls framed her pale features, reminding him of the security footage except now her frame was enclosed by a baggy sweatshirt that would have given her the cute feminine look if only the object clutched in her hand had been anything but a knife; a pocky stick for example. Heaven knew how deadly _those_ could be, "Fattest lie I've ever heard."

"Fine," Alex would have thrown up his hands in other circumstances. God, if only he had his hands, "How 'bout this? I'll make tea, you don't have to."

If he were the girl, he would definitely take the offer. Making tea was probably the hardest thing he had ever had the chance to learn how to. Tom had insisted that he liked his tea perfectly clear, which meant Alex had the job of taking out all the stubborn leaves and black smoky substances from the bottom of the white porcelain cup that Tom was very persistent on buying just in case Alex wanted to abandon his duty.

The girl stared at him for a long moment, "Dude, are you nuts?"

"I'll take that as a yes?" Hopeful, but not _too_ hopeful, Alex asked gingerly.

"Tell me who your mentor is and I'll let you make tea," Finally some sort of agreement but Alex found himself unable to comprehend his end of the deal, "Mentor?"

Snorting in amusement and slight disbelief, the girl arched an eyebrow, "You said you wanted to talk to me about Scorpia, which means you must know about that sick puzzle game they're doing. So who's your mentor?"

"You know so much," Alex blinked.

"When some damn sickened man holds a gun to your head and demands you to follow their orders," The girl rolled her eyes, "Of course I'd ask what the hell is going on. Tell me who's your mentor."

"If I do tell you," Slightly confused, Alex asked, "What are you going to do with it?"

"I will tell my psycho mentor so he can kill your mentor and I get to live longer," She shrugged then grinned at Alex's absolutely petrified face, "Relax, I'm joking. Don't worry, keep that name to yourself."

"O...kay…" Alex frowned, his hands pinned gesturing aimlessly, "That's all good, and as much as I enjoy this…passionate embrace, can you _please_ get off me now?"

The girl did slowly, throwing the kitchen knife rather carelessly toward the kitchen and, much to Alex's amazement, made it neatly into the slot carved in the wooden block. She explained with a shrug, "I grew up in a circus."

Alex holstered his gun and stood up, taking the proffered hand and was nearly pulled off his feet as the girl used more strength than expected. Slightly surprised, the girl apologized, "Sorry. You're kinda light, that's all."

"No harm was done," He offered his hand as he shook himself off, trying hard to stay standing on his feet that had slowly fallen asleep. Funny, because he could barely catch a sleep anywhere yet his legs could just up and go anytime, "I'm Harry. Harry Mayford."

He could, however, only trust the girl to not kill him but nothing else until they could establish some sort of clandestine agreement without being in constant fear of being ratted out. She took his hand in a firm handshake, "Claire."

Her hands were rather rough and suddenly Alex didn't find her explanation of growing up in a circus unexpected anymore. Her blond hair tussled with attempts to bat them down clear as daylight. Dark bags underneath her eyes told him more than she could about her living conditions. Claire looked frail but the dangerous glint in her eyes and the way she handled herself told him that it would be a very very bad day if he ever decided to have another brawl with her.

Alex shrugged, "So, should I go make tea and we can talk?"

"Oh right," Claire gestured for him to have a seat on the sofa that had managed to escape unscathed from their, rather untimely, brawl, "I don't have anything for tea. I don't drink that type of stuff. Let's just talk. You're not safe here, kid."

A long pregnant pause, "Did you just called me a _kid_? I'll have you know I'm twenty-two."

"Oh sorry," She didn't look sorry as she nonchalantly flipped her hair over her shoulder, "You look like you're twelve."

"And you look like you're five," Deeply wounded, Alex shot her a dirty look in rebuttal.

"You look more like a little brother," She snickered, "Are you seriously twenty-two?"

" _Yes,_ " Alex shot back with the best you-shot-me-in-the-chest-it-hurts-like-hell look.

Claire sighed, "I'm seventeen and I'm still more mature than you are."

 _Ouch_ , that stung.

"Anyways," Dismissing it, she shook her head, "So what you want to talk about? You'll have to make this fast. Even though I've destroyed all the bugs here and around, my mentor will drop by sooner or later and he will definitely kill you if he sees you. Something about earning bloody points."

"So," Alex leaned back, finally having the quiet moment to nurse his probably bruised ribs, "You stole that painting because of the hints to the puzzle, right?"

"Yeah," Claire glanced at him, "But it was a waste of time. It's completely irrelevant to the clues. We've looked at the painting top and bottom and all over, nothing."

"Why did you think it was somehow related to that painting?" Alex leaned in curiously, unable to fathom the logic and invisible links between the clues, "I understand the numbers are somehow related to Christopher Columbus, but why the painting?"

Claire reached to the center of the coffee table, "Cookie?" Alex shook his head and she continued with a bite upon replacing the jar, "I bunged around the internet about some sort of Old Man Columbus stuff. This painting popped up on the museum's page and it was donated by some bloke who won it in an auction like two weeks ago. Seriously sketchy about the history, so I looked up the bloke. Turned out his name's Vlad Lylian Veitch, or something even shadier."

"Vlad Lylian Veitch…VLV," Alex raised an eyebrow, "What 'bout the three L's?"

"That," She said cheerfully, "I have no idea. But hey, you mentioned you're a police right?"

"Yeah?"

"Sweet! Can you drop off the painting on your way up? I don't really need it anymore."

Alex paused, his eyes mirroring his skepticism in his reply, "Come again?"

The girl's thoughts simply couldn't stay anchored in one place, ricocheting everywhere and nowhere at the same time. Alex could almost believe if James and Tom were brothers of this girl. They simply had so much in common. Well, except she seemed rather dauntless to…everything while Tom had sworn with his life that he was never going to accompany Alex on any of his stupid parkour runs.

"Can you drop off the painting for me?" Claire was either completely oblivious or she was a damn good liar, "If the police search my quarter for whatever reason, I don't want the painting to be here. But be a damn waste if I burn it."

Alex sat up straighter, "So I'm supposed to waltz into the station, walk up to my boss, and give him the painting?"

"Yeah," Claire then got up and fumbled around the drawers that was leaned against the wall, the lamp looked dangerously closed to snapping from where it was dangling off to the side after their fight but Claire paid no attention to it, "Well, I can write you a note."

"You know I might just get fired for not apprehending you, right?" Standing up with incredulity, Alex remarked dryly.

Claire paused in strife, setting the pen down and bit her lips, finally, _finally_ , starting to reconsider her actions. Thank the lord.

"So in your line of duty, you get injured a lot, right?"

His point of ricocheting thoughts was well-made.

Alex rolled his eyes, "Not really, but it's just earlier this week that I got dumped down a slope," He tapped his jaw, "Still an ugly bruise."

Her eyes found the spot and she winced in sympathy, "Yikes. A slope, huh? Hurt like hell?"

"Nah," He shook his head, "Gone after a while."

Claire arched an eyebrow, "All right, come closer."

"Why?" He did anyway. It wasn't as if she was going to stab him anymore. They had a good truce between them. Not great, just good, because he still hadn't made tea yet and without him holding up his end of the bargain, who knew what would happen?

"A little closer," Claire said a tad bit impatiently at Alex's tentative inching forward.

Hesitant, Alex stopped until they were within an arm's width, "W-" He didn't get the chance to enunciate his first word before her fist came crashing to the unmarred side of his jaw, sending him stumbling into the sofa with a pained and surprised yelp, "What the fuck?"

Claire flapped her hand, "Ouch, you have a thick jaw."

"And _you_ don't have a brain," Nursing the collision point between him and the hard edge of the sofa, Alex shot back, "What the fuck was that far?"

"Chill, dude," Claire rolled her eyes, "Now you can tell your boss man you got beaten by me and I got away."

"How's _that_ supposed to help?" Alex cried in outrage, "A police officer beaten by the suspect?"

"Beats talk of conspiracy, right?" With a grin, Claire reached beneath the sofa and pulled out the painting, brushing away a particular long strand of dust in mild surprise and disgust as if she had never seen a dustball before, " _Here_ you go. Safe journey, Harry."

Ushering him out the door with her finger poking insistently into his back, her trigger-happy attitude made Alex roll his eyes despite the blossoming blue and purple on his jaw like an early spring blossom in bloody leaf-falling autumn.

"Oh right," Claire disappeared into the house then came back a moment later with a piece of paper between her index and middle finger in an offering, "Call me?"

"...Are you hitting on me?" Alex asked after a long pause, "You do know I'm five years your senior."

In a singsong voice, Claire cleared her throat before she spoke, " _Love knows no boundaries_. Besides, you look my age. If anyone asks, I'll tell them you're seventeen."

Shrugging, Alex accepted the offering gratefully, pocketing the paper as he lugged the painting out the door.

He swore she chuckled at him as she closed the door.

* * *

"So let me guess this right," Wolf settled in his chair, eyeing Alex with something akin to bloody-hell-the-fuck-did-you-do as he commented, "A little girl gave you that bruise-symmetrically aligned on your face by the way-and left the painting for you to find?"

"There was also a note," Alex amended, "Saying that she wants to return the painting because she doesn't need it anymore."

Wolf leaned forward, his elbow on his desk and forearms flat against the wood, "I damn well won't accept this explanation if not for that bloody bruise on your face and the expensively ripped uniform sleeve. You understand me?"

"Completely, sir," Alex bobbled his head like a haywire figurine that had been deprived of _love_ and _care_ for a long time, a sad lonely figure on a nowhere island, waiting to be found yet unable to leave. Forever attached to the-

"Mayford," Wolf snapped his fingers, "Zone out again and I'll personally see you clean the whole file room."

"Sorry sir," He grinned, "Just thinking."

"Well, you don't have to think anymore."

Now that caught him unaware. Alex eyed Wolf warily, his posture tensed in apprehension. A small grin was slowly lighting up the man's face and Alex did not like it. A smiling Wolf equaled a dead or barely alive Alex. A small amused hum breached the silence. Shit. Something really bad was going to happen. No more words were necessary.

Alex slowly eased himself out of his chair and pointed awkwardly at the door, "Sir? I'll just go and get out now…"

"Sit _down_ , Mayford," Wolf smiled kindly, "From today on, you no longer have to think. You just have to act on orders and your partner will do all the thinking for you."

Ah.

"No bloody hell thank you."

"It was never a 'please consider' but a 'you bloody damn well will accept'," Ever the commander, Wolf mirrored his smile with authoritative condescension then he averted his gaze and looked past him, beckoning whoever it was behind the glass with a hand.

The officer pushed through the door gracefully in attention before approaching the desk, looking absolutely dashing and completely un-assassin-like in his police uniform, a highly amused Scorpia-brand smile tugging his lips as Alex arched an eyebrow, "Mayford, meet your partner Fletcher Lionel. Officer Lionel, Officer Harry Mayford."

With his best what-the-fuck-are-you-doing-here smile, Alex shook his new partner's hand, "Please to meet you."

"Likewise," Fletcher returned with an accurate you-will-see expression before diverting his attention to the commander who was watching the scene unfold before him like a drunken squirrel on a Saturday night who happened to stumble across a TV in the middle of nowhere, "I was just transferred here a few days ago. If it's all right, I would like to take a look around first."

"That's a brilliant idea," Wolf looked immensely serious as he celebrated the idea before spitting out the rest, "Mayford would love to show you around. He's quite the tour guy."

"Yeah," Fletcher decided to break out the touchy reunion party first, "Harry used to work as one too."

Wolf looked momentarily taken aback, a golden post that would have stormed the internet and become the next trendy meme if only Alex had his phone with him and if only he had enough guts to do it, "You two know each other?"

"We're practically brothers," Alex chirped helpfully, watching the horror and realization flash through the commander's eyes as he calculated the simple math of 'Mayford plus Mayford's friend equals…?', "Fletcher's a family friend and we spent a lot of time together way back. I knew he worked in the police but I didn't know he was getting a transfer until a few days ago," A short delighted laughter that must have gone off-pitch because Fletcher glared at him to cut the laugh short, "I certainly didn't know he was getting transferred here."

Fletcher settled a hand on Alex's shoulder in a disarming 'family-friend' manner, "I honestly didn't think I'd land my best mate as a partner. Thank you, sir, I'm sure you had a play in this. Don't worry, I won't tell anyone."

Wolf clearly realized his decisions a tad bit too late and tried to reign back the runaway horses, "Mayford, you said you didn't really want a partner. Perhaps I can still arrange that?"

"Nah," Alex batted his hand with a dramatic shake of his head, giving Wolf a withering condescending look with laughter barely suppressed, "I'm all good here, sir. If you don't mind, I'll go take Fletcher on a quick sight-seeing trip. No worries, my radio will be open."

"Fine," Wolf settled back in his chair, already scheming the fall of their partnership, "Remember, this partnership's only temporary. I'll disband it if I see fit."

"Gotcha," Alex grinned then grabbed Fletcher and rather forcefully dragged them to the door, "Later, Wolf."

As soon as he closed the door and making sure that Wolf's prying eyes weren't able the stare at them through the clear glass window, Alex hissed, "What are you doing here?"

"Thought I should watch your back," Fletcher brushed past him toward the door, a few officers gave them a glance but otherwise paid no attention, "Seeing that beautiful bruise you scored today just proved my point."

"I asked to be punched, okay?" Alex ran to catch up with the man, literally throwing himself into the passenger seat before Fletcher fired up the engine, "Where are we going?"

"You asked to be punched," Fletcher eyed him dryly, pausing in mid gear-switching "Really."

When he put it that way…It wasn't as if he just walked up to her and asked to be punched. Actually, that was exactly what happened. Literally. "I gave her my consent."

"For your information," The man sighed with exasperation as if dealing with Alex was the nightmare of Godzilla, "We're going to steal a jewel."

"...Go back five seconds?"

"I know you heard me and I'm sure you know I don't look like someone who jokes."

That was very true. So steal a jewel it was. But there was one thing that Fletcher got wrong. That man had an excellent sense of humor, though dark and eerie borderline haughty narcissistic, it always ended up infuriating Alex or driving him further down the path of self-deprecation. Fletcher was not a good role model for him. Well, _unless_ he was on the road of becoming a Scorpia agent- _which_ was exactly what was happening.

"Ha ha ha," His bleak laughter neatly covered the end of Fletcher's phrase, "Very funny but that's too far. Seriously, where are we going?"

"Partridge Square."

Ha, he nailed it. Of _course_ they weren't going to steal a jewel. Fletcher had finally given him a place; though the lack of reluctance in his voice made Alex wondered if he had somehow fallen into another one of his neatly arranged trap. The man had the weirdest way of pretending to divert his attention when in fact the answer was right splat in front of him. Though Fletcher had once again nearly made him believe that they truly were going to steal a jewel. Jeez, how can you find jewels to steal at…Partridge Square.

Alex frowned, his mental database coming up with nothing as the name was thrown in, memories came up empty like a haunted ghost house, "Partridge Square. What's that place?"

"It's an auction center," Fletcher explained as they made a swift right turn, ignoring the rather outraged driver whom they had cut straight in front of.

"Are we buying something?" What could Fletcher possibly want from an auction center? A new set of spy-scope? His faint amusement clearly wasn't appreciated as Fletcher shot him a glare at his short chuckle. That man must be a Jedi or something, stupid mind-readers.

" _No_ ," The ELI5 tone was back and somewhere along the tone was the implicit threat that if he kept asking rhetorical questions, something _very very bad_ will happen, "Like I said, we're stealing a jewel."

"From the auction house," Now was the greatest time to apply the mind-blown gif on a casual bystander's face so that Fletcher could laugh his head off at Alex's absolute clueless confusion that had morphed into shocked realization in split seconds, " _What_?"

"Remember the painting the girl stole?" Fletcher prompted then continued without waiting for a verbal or physical response, "It was donated by a man named Vlad Lylian Veitch," Claire mentioned that "And the owner of this jewel is his son, Luke Lylian Luxembourg. He took his mother's maiden name as his last because of the rocky relationship he had with his father before the parents' divorce."

"Sounds like the start of a tragic story."

"Mr. Veitch was a rather…persistent client of ours a few years ago," Fletcher continued as he magically maneuvered their vehicle past five others, flashing past the yellow light with speed that would have made the Flash proud, "He went against our agreement and demanded more for less pay. We had a disagreement and his wife ended up dead. Crossfire from his own. Police found her body later at an abandoned storage. He had dumped her body there in fear."

"Ouch."

"His son Luke-"

"Luke Skywalker," His remark was not appreciated.

"-was rather devastated and it ended up in a shoot-out. Veitch demanded that we back him up because he was our client and when we refused, he shot one of our own," Fletcher grimaced, "I can see why the Head would want to take this chance to eliminate the man."

"Who was shot?" Alex frowned. Somehow, he couldn't bring himself to believe that Scorpia's head would care so much about a mere agent. Though, if truth be told, he would be angry too if his backstabbing client shot one of his own agents no matter how trifle his relationship with the agent was.

"It was the head's son," Fletcher's grimace was clear but Alex doubted that there was much love lost between Fletcher and the son. It was more of a pained grimace for the unnecessary bloodshed.

"But why steal the jewel?"

"The jewel's a part of Veitch's personal collection that his son must have managed to take when they split. Without the jewel, the collection is incomplete and Veitch would do anything to take it back. I'd think the Head would, under the pretense of this game, take it. It's not money that we don't have after all."

The car was pulled into the grand central, neatly sliding into the opening space before the car on the right ever had the chance to react and it wasn't until afterward when they both got out of the car did the driver yelled insults at them that Fletcher completely ignored as he shouldered a bag. Perhaps in a different time, different place, they would have been best mate. The four of them, Tom, James, Fletcher and him, could have been the kings of the world. Complete domination.

"Pay attention," Fletcher snapped a finger in front of him once pushing into the rotating glass doors, "If anyone asks, we're here as security guards. Head immediately to the restroom and switch out your uniform to a guest suit apparel," He tapped his bag with his slender fingers without looking at it and instead offering a nod to one of the security guards as they brushed past, "If I'm correct, we won't be the only one here."

"What do you mean?"

"It won't take long before the other agents realize the connection between VLV and LLL," Fletcher spared him a glance, casually pulling the rim of his cap toward his face as they made a turn past the white pillars, "We will sit there and be part of the general audience. Once the other agents show up, we wait it out, then take it from them."

"What if there's more than one agent?" What was that sad old saying the Chinese had? The mantis stalks the cicada, but behind them lurks the oriole. He hoped that they would be the Godzilla at the very back.

"That's why I said we wait it out," Fletcher said as he jerked his head toward the restrooms, "C'mon, auction starts in fifteen. Let's hurry it up."

And judging by the smug look on Fletcher's face, they would be Godzilla.


	12. Mentors and Recruits

A.N.: Short chapter, I'm really sorry. My attention has diverged, sadly, lately, so I haven't really been able to focus on a single fanfic to work on oopsh. Anyway, May will be a hectic month due to school, finals, and concerts and all that fun stuff. Updates will still be late but I'm really really hoping to get a lot of this fic done during summer. Cross my fingers and pray.

* * *

"You said he talks," Wolf held up his hand to stop the onslaught verbal train from the officer at his new discoveries, a digital screen balanced in his lap and his headphone lopsided to allowed him audio from both reality, "From the tapes."

"Yes sir," The eager officer nodded, "It's sort of faint but we can surely distinguish the audio from the background with our equipment. Luckily, the security camera installed right along the roof was close enough to capture his voice even amid the chaos."

"That's brilliant," Wolf clasped his hands together and placed it gently on the table. The officer looked as if he was waiting for further instructions, his eyes dumbly holding Wolf's gaze, "What are you waiting for, a royal invitation? Get to it."

"Yes, sir," A hasty nod and the man scrambled out of his office. Wolf watched him go and then watched him turn the corner. The officer left without shutting the goddamn door.

Sighing, Wolf shook his head. No matter, he had more dire business to deal with. Namely Mayford. While Officer Fletcher Lionel looked like a trustworthy man, someone who could hold Mayford's lack-of-reasoning brain intact, Wolf had uneasy feelings about pairing up Mayford with Mayford's buddy. Because, for heaven's sake, what good ever came out of childhood friends pairing? Mayford was a bad influence. Mayford plus his childhood friend would be a catastrophe, to say the least. He had enough of troubles for a lifetime as it was with the suspicious event that transpired during his short absence last time. It hadn't been a great idea to leave Mayford in the same room as Mrs. Jones. Mayford looked like he had been in a heated argument against a bull and Mrs. Jones had a look of irritation. Both of which, Wolf learned, was dangerous. When Mayford became emotionally unstable, things tend to get violent. When Mrs. Jones became irritated, her opponent's life tended to go south drastically.

"Commander."

Speaking of the devil, Wolf must have had the worse luck of all for at the exact moment when he was about to simply recline back in his seat and enjoy an hour off, MI6 bloody Mrs. Jones walked in. Although devoid of her minions, she looked impossibly even more dangerous.

"Ma'am," He stood immediately to attention.

"At ease," She nodded but made no move to sit and Wolf couldn't find any reason to sit at all when his superior obviously had no intention to, "I won't take up much of your time. My reason here is to secure the transfer of Officer Harry Mayford into our intelligence office."

Wolf blinked in undisguised surprise, "Mayford?"

"Do you have any objects, soldier?" The use of his rank was weighed down with open superiority, the use of her authority to simply demand the procedure of no questions.

"May I ask why?"

"It's highly classified," Mrs. Jones did not bother at all, "And I expect to see him in the lobby at the end of his shift today. Don't make me push toward more drastic approaches."

"Yes ma'am," Any bite backs would result only in damage to himself with no better results. Mrs. Jones could easily strip him of ranks or deploy his healing unit out on the fields. He could not risk either of those. If anything, he could pluck whatever it was out from Mayford.

Mrs. Jones left swiftly and just as suddenly as she appeared but her dark moody cloud of peppermint stay lingered in the air for minutes more than necessary. Wolf dropped himself back into his chair and groaned. Whatever the fuck Mayford got himself into, they were going to have a long chat before 6 could whisk him away. He had come a long way from meeting the extremely sarcastic young man on his first week to the ever-cheerful wreck-of-a-lightbulb Mayford and whatever it was between 6 and Mayford, he was going to figure it out.

Reaching for the comm unit, Wolf's first attempt to radio in Mayford's car failed when he received no response after his fifth try, his second attempt to call the damn idiot on his personal radio also, unsurprisingly, failed. His third attempt to contact him through his phone bearing no hope also did not go through and Wolf sat seething as he ended the cheerful 'leave a message after the beep' tone without actually leaving one.

"Goddammit." Just who was it that said their radio would be open

Mayford better be _begging_ to remain on this job when he came back. Wolf blinked. Mayford was coming back to this job anyway.

Shaking his head to pull his thoughts away, his last measure pulled up the location of Mayford's car. The dot blinked sluggishly on the screen. Wolf frowned. Partridge Square. If the square was famous for anything, it was the Partridge Square Auction Center. Everything rare, historical and even black market items could be found there and Wolf remembered almost a call every month from there reporting thefts and violence. The police had negotiated a deal with the owner on a constant police assigned to the building in exchange for the police to turn a blind eye to the smaller black market items. The government hadn't exactly been pleased but with the assignment of police force patrol twenty-four-seven, the number of casualties had dropped drastically.

His attention was stolen away as half a dozen red dots began to speed toward the building, signaling the gathering of the patrol cars just as a short rectangular box appeared. Shots fired, requesting additional backup.

Goddammit.

* * *

 _Thirty Minutes Earlier_

"What is that?" Alex leaned over and hissed as they brought up the second to the last auction item, hideously covered by marble rainbow scales. It looked like a rock after tragic make-up tutorial from a two-year-old.

"The River's Heart," The man called out, "An ancient artifact believed by native Americans to be able to channel the power of the river. Starting bid at two thousand."

Some idiot called out three thousand.

"These are all appetizers before the main object, the last object," Fletcher remarked dryly as his apparent lack of interest, "And trust me, the majority of them are fake. Only those new to this auction house will ever think of buying it. It's a way for the more experienced to determine the level of others and to see who they should be careful against."

"What if-"

"Be quiet for a moment, would you?"

Alex obediently shut his mouth. Fletcher could be very un-Scorpia-like sometimes but there was always an invisible boundary line that could only be stretched so far before he was over it and Alex certainly had no wish of being on the receiving end of Fletcher's wrath. When facing two evils, it was best to have one of them siding with you.

It was another ten minutes before the jewel finally made its appearance. It was a small triple Hi-Polymer eraser size jewel but although it radiant brilliantly underneath the overhead light, Alex couldn't bring himself to marvel at the beauty of it. There was simply nothing exotically beautiful about it when it looked exactly like plastic replica diamonds sold for two dollars in cheap stores.

The starting bid was fifty thousand and Alex wasn't surprised at the steady rising of the prices being called out. Everyone merely being here shown their love and enthusiasm for arts and artifacts of rarity and they certainly would not forego their chance at scoring something of such 'beauty' and blah blah blah. Alex really couldn't find anything wishes to claim the diamond as his own. Didn't people die over scrabbling for ancient paintings of squares and rectangles and unrecognizable shapes simply because they were dated over four centuries ago? Was it really appreciations of art or was it just plain greedy yearning for an egocentric display to show-off their riches?

Fletcher snapped a finger before his eyes, "Pay attention."

The gentleman two rows down pushed the bid up to two million, breaking the steady trend of augmenting at an interval of five thousand. The house was silent for a moment before three million broke out. Then three point five.

"Get ready," The Scorpia agent smiled with dry humor and amusement, "The last man to bid will either be a Scorpia agent not knowing how to deal his hands or a rich man whose life will probably end tonight; though if he's lucky, perhaps a trip to the ER will save him and he will probably never walk near an auction house ever again."

"You find joy in people's suffering."

Fletcher looked surprised for a moment and Alex almost thought it was out of genuine concern that the man had not realized his own characteristics. It took a complete nosedive when the man turned to him with a withering look, "How nice of you to finally notice."

That killed off all Alex's planned attempts at a normal conversation. Let's face it, there was no way he could stomach a conversation with a cold-hearted assassin who had just admitted the most generic characteristics on the Must-Have list of assassin traits. He had expected it, he just hadn't expect the brutally honest remark.

The auction house began to file out as it drew to an end and Fletcher followed the crowd with ease, buttoning up his suit and gestured for Alex to follow along to the backstage where the diamond would be stored for temporary safety. They would have a window.

"Careful," Fletcher said softly as he slowed down, forcing Alex to follow suit to not crash into the assassin, "Stay with the flow but edge your way towards the back. Do you notice anyone doing the same?"

Alex scanned the sluggishly moving crowd flooding towards the exit, his eyes flickering in views without blatant staring or conspicuous searching. If the people were the fur of one of those fluffy dogs, the other Scorpia agents would be the few stray hair that stuck out. His mock sense of needing perfection did not fail him on his third scan. Although almost everyone was wearing suits that only varied in price and nothing else on the outlook, the agents did stand out once he knew what he was looking for.

"I found two."

Fletcher shot him a quick glance, "Bald head and the other has a blue striped tie?"

"How did you know?" Alex arched an eyebrow in mild astonishment at the accurate description that made each of the two stand out amid their surrounding.

Instead of answering his question, Fletcher sighed, "Great. There's more than two, keep looking."

Alex did but perhaps more grumpily than previous, "You know, if I can spot two, I'm already really good at this whole I-Spy game."

The assassin on his side had a look of utter condescension and contemptuousness, "Those two are the worst out of all of us in concealing themselves."

"So they're bad?"

"They can still kill you in a heartbeat fifteen different ways."

"...Thanks."

"Glad to be of service," The ghost of a smile lingered when Alex turned to face the assassin but before the much-preferred conversation could progress any further, Fletcher lowered his tone, "They're not the one you should be focusing on. This job has to be accomplished by both Mentor and the Recruit."

"Which means there's a chance that _I_ have to go in and steal the jewel?"

"No, this is best accomplished by the Mentors. Recruits will only mess things up and result in a bloody mess," Fletcher snorted without humor, "While I attempt to feat, you'll stay outside and stay alive."

"...Will there be zombies?"

"The other Recruits _will_ try to kill you, it's a last-man-standing game among the Recruits. If you're killed, our team will lose. I will lose. So please try to stay alive and if you can, take out some of the bastards too."

"You want me to kill people?" Alex had expected it, but he hadn't expect Fletcher to simply put it out there.

Fletcher pulled his gaze away from the door and watched Alex intensely and silently for a moment before he pronounced, "Yes, I do."

Alex opened his mouth to object but Fletcher clearly wasn't finished, "But I'm sure you can find a way around it."

He shut it.

Whatever that meant. It sounded like an option between killing people and not killing people and he sure as hell wasn't going to go on a killing spree for an organization that he had no intention of joining.

"Got it?" Fletcher asked.

"Yeah, I think so, but one question."

"Shoot."

"This whole Scorpia game, did your boss pull it from some creepy dystopia drama?"

Fletcher eyed him, "If you put your mind on something more useful, I'm sure you can be successful in the future. But that aside, here they come. Deal with it."

The crowd had thinned drastically and only a few still loitered around. Alex bet half of the remaining, or more, were Scorpia. Agents or not. They were all messed up, to even want to participate in this game and wanting to sincerely join Scorpia.

Was that how they would view him as well?

Before he could bring more attention to himself, Alex moved next to the bench occupied by another man on his phone, "'Scuse me, can I sit here?"

The man looked up mildly, his blue eyes flashing in unrecognizable emotion, "Go ahead."

Plopping himself down, he crossed his legs, stuck one end of his ear-bud on, letting the other dangle in the air, and scrolled mindlessly through his phone. Every sense was screaming at him to edge away from the man but he chided himself to remain still. Hopefully, he could escape unscathed from right underneath everyone's noses.

"You are here by yourself?" The man broke the silence as a group of staff walked by mixed with more customers. The quiet voice held a touch of a Russian accent.

Alex glanced up sideways, "Um, no. I'm waiting for my dad."

"Your dad," The man nodded thoughtfully, "Do you like auctions?"

Laughing slightly, Alex shook his head with a genuine grimace, "Not particularly, art isn't really my thing. It's my dad who's obsessed with auctions."

The man shifted in interest, his pale frosty feature moved in a half-hearted attempt to smile, "Huh, so what's your thing?"

"Tech definitely," Alex nodded, "Contemporary trends. What 'bout you?"

"I love traveling."

Traveling, huh. Sure, Alex could deal with an assassin who loved traveling, "So what are you doing here? Sightseeing?"

"You can say that. I came because of the jewel auction."

The utter lack of elaboration and the unwillingness to speak anymore than necessary was not lost on Alex. Definitely a Scorpia agent. Definitely a Scorpia agent testing if he was one of the Recruits. Well, he'd just have to speak the truth, "Some collection, I think. It was beautiful, alright," He shrugged, "But I don't really have the eye for jewels. Just because they're a different shade of the same color doesn't mean they should be worth a decades worth of wage of others."

The man was quiet for a moment, "Interesting."

Alex suddenly had the feeling he had accidentally discovered one of the secret doors in games. He could either be facing the boss he could never defeat or the treasure box he could never find the key to open for. Tom had always commented on his bad luck and how Alex always ended up trapping both of their characters in the cave with no way out.

"My name is Yassen Gregorovich," The man's eyes followed him, "You must be Fletcher's Recruit."

It took all he had to not leap to his feet and get away as far as possible but his barely disguised look of horror was enough to confirm the man's statement, "No worries, I won't kill you. Fletcher's a good friend of mine and I don't kill children."

"I think you have the wrong person," His meek attempt was nothing more than filler for the silence.

The man ignored him, "However, I will not stop anyone from killing you. If my Recruit run into you again, she will kill you."

"Your Recruit?"

"Claire."

Ah, that explained a lot.

"She should have killed you last time," Yassen continued, "But she didn't. She told me you spared her life and in return, she did as well. However, your fling will only achieve as far."

"We didn't have any 'fling'," Alex objected, "We talked, that was all."

Yassen didn't reply instead he turned his head slightly to the backdoor and before he had a chance to reply, two shots rang out. Instinctively, Alex ducked then jerked up to search for a commotion. The assassin not on his side remained calm in his seat and the only acknowledgement he shown was the slight shift in his direction.

Bloody creeps.

"Claire isn't here, is she?" Alex asked quietly as more gunshots rung out. He wanted to run in there, his adrenaline was kicking in and he was doing his best to remain seated. There were a billion and three ways things could go wrong and he would be gunned down before he could reach the back door.

Alex could, after all, only trust Yassen enough to share a bench with him but he could definitely not entrust his life in that man's life. 'I don't kill children', what kind of assassin would that make? A friendly charity run-away?

"No, she isn't," Yassen nodded, "The jewel is not the item."

Alex turned in surprise, "What?"

The assassin refused to repeat himself twice and chose instead to plow on, "This is to eliminate my competitors."

"What?"

"If Fletcher makes it out alive," Yassen stood up and buttoned his suit neatly, adjusting his tie by gently pushing it upward, "Tell him I said hi but I suggest you leave immediately."

"I'm not leaving Fletcher," Alex stood up as well.

Yassen regarded him strangely then nodded as if somehow Alex's decision was very important to him, "The cops are here and any moments they will be storming in. You should change back to your uniform by then."

A sharp gunshot and a pained grunt accompanied the thudding against the closed door. Alex turned, half expecting the door to open and someone, anyone, walking out. When he turned back, Yassen was gone. The lobby was empty and the screams moments ago from the innocent bystanders had long faded to uncomfortable memory. He could hear the siren better now and the sharp cut-off as they all screeched to a stop.

More shots ran out and then the door did swung open.


	13. Beginning of the End

A.N.: Surprise surprise. Whoosh. It's been 20 days since my last update and I'm just guilty of the constant procrastination. May is a hectic month due to the end of the school year and...I will just stop inventing excuses—BUT! Seriously. In between finals and extra projects, I'm dead to the world.

Anyway, cheers!

* * *

"Mayford, Lionel!"

They both turned from their squatted position on the floor—their previous task being examining the bodies that Fletcher had boldly murdered behind closed doors—and stood up, standing in attention as Wolf neared, "Sir."

"Cut that crap," The commander snapped, "What happened here?"

"There was a shooting," Replying after a quick imperceptible nod from Fletcher in confirmation, Alex straightened, "We happened to be near the site."

Wolf's hands settled on his waist, a deep frown creasing his forehead, "Why were you here in the first place?"

"You told me to show Fletcher around so I did. I thought I should warn him about Partridge Square since it is a prime location of black markets and shootings," He glanced sideways, "I told him he should steer clear of this block _right_ before the shots came."

Wolf dragged a hand through his short hair—several months of uncut hair past military could easily do that to a soldier, "What happened to your com?"

"What?"

"I tried your radio," Wolf jerked his head toward the radio sitting atop their uniform, a wire snaking down their collar and over the underneath vest, "Both of yours, in fact. There were no responses."

Fletcher scratched his head uncharacteristically with a sheepish grimace, falling easily into character, "I'm sorry, sir, that we didn't call in and inform you earlier but our radio seemed to have failed when we neared the Square," Alex nodded, intentionally flickering his eyes to Wolf's before averting, "We thought it was a temporary failure so we pulled up outside the building and Harry—Officer Mayford—decided to give me a quick run-down of the importance of the auction house while we waited. That's when we heard the commotions."

"So it's a technical failure."

"Yes sir."

Wolf gave them one last sweeping glance before nodding, temporarily backing off their case, "Alright. Talk to me. What do we have here?"

Without waiting for an invitation, the commander approached the scene and they briskly moved to catch up with him. Fletcher took the lead, "A sextuplet homicide, sir. All were shot almost point-blank on the head."

"Six in one day," Circled around, Wolf stepped carefully around the forensics snapping pictures and glanced up inquiringly, "Have you talked with the head manager?"

Alex shook his head, "Not yet. We've made contact with him over the phone and he will be arriving shortly. But we have talked with the departmental manager who's in charge of today's auction."

"What did they say? Any leads?"

"Not really, no," Hurriedly retrieving the clipboard on the side counter, Alex presented it to the commander, "However, he did give us a list of all the items in this auction."

Wolf took it but paid it no attention as he arched an eyebrow, awaiting the rest, "And how does this help?"

A quick glance was exchanged between Alex and Fletcher but it was more Alex than Fletcher, "All six victims were found in the backstage room where all the auction items are temporarily stored prior to transaction or shipment. When we arrived on the scene, two of the victims had guns in their possession and we had managed to con—"

"Just so I'm clear," Wolf interrupted, "The victims were dead when you found them, right?"

"As dead as a bullet through the head can be," It was Fletcher who did the confirmation.

"Yes," Nodding along, Alex continued at Wolf's quick roll-of-hand, "We also found holstered weapons on the remaining four victims, which leads us to believe that it wasn't a one-sided homicide."

"You're saying they all end up shooting themselves dead in a crossfire?" Frowning slightly but not completely dismissing the idea, Wolf restated their claim.

Well, no, not really. Fletcher's recounted story was that it was a six-way war in there when he entered so he had shot the first guy in his way. Two died really did die in crossfire but the remaining three were—easily, as Fletcher had put it monotonously when he exited the room—shot by Fletcher. If he sounded rather lacking emotions right now, Alex blamed it on the emotional traumatizing shock that he had still yet to get over. Fletcher had made the shots clean, but seeing the dead bodies did not make things better.

Judging by Wolf's next comment, he didn't exactly manage to hide it, "Mayford, you alright?"

"Yeah," He grimaced, eyes flickering up so that the dead bodies wouldn't be taking up a majority of his vision, "Yeah, I'm alright."

"First dead body?"

"Yes," Alex winced, his breakfast threatening to make itself known in one of the more disgusting and unnatural ways, "First six dead bodies, to be frank. But, yes, I'm alright. I just need to…look a little upward."

Wolf looked at him half-amused half-skeptical but chose not to pursue the matter any further, "Alright then, we'll make this quick. Do we have positive IDs on them?"

"They weren't carrying any identifications," Fletcher said, settling a hand on Alex's shoulder meaning to be comforting instead Alex could only picture the blood, the gun, and the man behind it. He was being comforted by a Scorpia assassin who had created the bloody crime scene in front of him. For a daring moment, he absently balanced remaining calm and act as if nothing was wrong against screaming his head off as if everything was wrong—which was the best description he could use to describe the current situation.

Fletcher released the light hold, "But if we run their photo back at the precinct, we might find something."

"Good," Wolf nodded, his eyes shifting to Fletcher's, deeming Alex temporarily unable to answer any questions, "What about security footage?"

The assassin shook his head in disappointment, "The security footage went down almost thirty minutes before the shooting. We went to check it out but the guards were…shot as well."

Wolf narrowed his eyes in concern at the pause, "Is there something else?"

"There was blood everywhere," Fletcher glanced at Alex, expecting him to put on his best pale face and Alex didn't need to pretend at all, "They, um, blew—"

"That's enough, Officer Lionel," Wolf seemed a little more fazed than usual but otherwise, Alex could easily see that the commander did not interrupt Fletcher's vivid description simply because _he_ , the commander, was disturbed, "I'm good on the details. Are you saying the security room was down almost half an hour before the shooting? Why were there no prior alarms? Thirty minutes is a hell long time. What happened to the patrol police?"

"They weren't aware," Fletcher said, shifting his gaze to the two patrol police standing to the side being debriefed by other officers, "They were outside on lunch break prior to the shooting and second on the scene. Apparently, the security room is mostly independent of all the rest, they being the one that watches over the rest of the building so it is rather neglected when it comes to being watched over."

"So you're saying," Massaging the bridge of his nose, Wolf sighed, "If the security room goes down, the whole building goes?"

"Not really," Alex decided to give his two cents, "There are definitely guards on each floor but they report to floor security instead of the central security room and the floor securities, they check in with the central every hour."

A quick glance was spared his way, "But everything supposedly happened in half an hour. They had no need to check in with central."

"Exactly."

The commander drew in a deep breath and made eye contact with Alex first, flickered to Fletcher, than laded back on Alex, "Okay. That's good. Get back to the precinct—both of you—and get debriefed. I want you two to stay at the precinct for the rest of your shift."

"I can finish the paperwork before the end of the hour," Alex frowned, "I prefer to be out. We can stick to patrol."

"No," Wolf refused, shaking his head, "I want you to stay at the station. Especially you, Mayford."

He crossed his arms, feeling affronted by the gratuitous concern, "Look, I know you're concerned about my ability to perform, but I'm fine."

"No."

"Sir!"

"No means no, Mayford," Snapping in irritation, Wolf stepped closer with a growl, "Give me your hand."

Alex blinked, drawing back in confusion, "Sorry?"

"Lift your hand," The commander sighed, grabbing Alex's arm and held aloft in the air, "Keep it up."

Following the direction, Alex's eyes trailed to the offending limb. It was shaking. He frowned and tried to stop it. It didn't stop but thankfully nor did it worsen. His hand shook like the stubborn last leaf on a tree before winter, refusing to fall yet shaking in exertion in its attempt.

"Just," Wolf met his eyes, "Stay in the precinct, alright?"

He opened his mouth but the commander's gaze demanded the opposite answer so he shut it promptly and muttered, "Fine. Stay in the precinct. Got it."

"You too, Officer Lionel."

"Yes sir."

Wolf didn't move. Standing in front of him—severely invading his personal space—the man's eyes dared him to disobey his order. Once the commander was satisfied with whatever it was that he saw, he did the same with Fletcher but with less conviction. A lot less, because for starters, he did not get into Fletcher's personal space and the eye contact certainly did not last ten seconds.

Though that was an exception for Wolf's phone rang before their staring contest could continue.

* * *

Wolf narrowed his eyes as he held the gaze, making sure that the imprudent officer actually heard his words, "Just stay in the precinct, alright?"

Mayford opened his mouth and Wolf instantly knew that if he allowed the officer to speak his mind, the next word out of his mouth was definitely not 'yes' so he chose to stomp out the bad seeds before they had to chance to rear their ugly head.

It worked. Mayford shut his mouth, "Fine."

Even if the display and the slight pouting of his lips showed evident childishness, Wolf wasn't going to ask for a better attitude because he knew convincing Mayford to follow orders was already a daunting task. The officer stiffly replied, "Stay in the precinct. Got it."

Wolf turned to Lionel who had been standing silently to the side the whole time, "You too, Officer Lionel."

There was something off about the officer. More off than being Mayford's childhood friend. When Lionel had set a hand gently and comfortingly on Mayford's shoulder, the younger officer didn't seem to have received the calming message and instead, he had stiffened, a funny expression had flickered across his face.

"Yes sir," Lionel nodded, his eyes flickering almost in concern to Mayford. While Wolf couldn't trust the man just yet, he was starting to waver in his opinions. Perhaps he could trust Lionel with Mayford.

He turned back to Mayford to make sure that his points were across, individually making eye contacts with both agents right before his phone rang. Wolf took it out and glanced quickly at the caller ID. Unknown.

"Get yourself back to the precinct," Wolf said as he brushed past to the two officers to take the call.

They nodded then headed off. Watching them go, Wolf turned back to his call, "Hello?"

"Commander," It was Mrs. Jones.

Afraid that he had somehow managed to forget the time, Wolf glanced at the time on the wall to the side. The silver metals pointed toward two twenty-four. His apprehension was falsely misled, "Ma'am."

"Cancel our reservation at six today," She said and he could almost smell the peppermint through the phone, despite the impossibility, "I have someplace to be."

Mrs. Jones had always been against telephone conversations, constantly demanding a face-to-face meeting to prevent leak of information—Wolf respected that—which means whatever it was, it must be important for her to go against her normal policy.

"Reservation?"

"Your officer," She sounded mildly annoyed, "I'll no longer be needing him at the moment."

Ah. She meant Mayford, "Yes ma'am."

"I will attempt to reschedule our meeting. In the meantime, keep the officer alive."

Before he could even register the whole sentence, Mrs. Jones ended the call. _Keep the officer alive._ Certainly did not bode good news and definitely a statement that made him more confused than ever. Though, if he were to tell the truth, the only good thing that came out of it was that he didn't have to drop Mayford off at the MI6 office before he had the chance to thoroughly question him.

Wolf glanced toward the retreating back of Mayford and Lionel questioningly. Just who in the world was Mayford? For all he knew, first-year police officers would not draw the attention of MI6 deputy no matter how 'astonishing' their works were. MI6 rarely, if ever, recruit from police forces and not to mention a…a young man who looked like he would be better suited taking another year of college than being out in the world.

Whatever it was, he was going to find out. He wasn't one to back away from challenges.

When he returned back to the precinct—tentatively proposing to postpone his talk with Mayford due to the pale and rather sickly expression the young officer made earlier—he did not expect to see Mayford and Lionel in a standoff at the first's desk. Mayford was glaring and Lionel looked almost irritated at whatever point Mayford was getting at.

"What happened?" Wolf asked to one of the watching officers who probably decided to stand-watch over them in case it got out of hands.

The officer shook his head, "Don't know, sir. They were arguing when they got back but I did not catch what it was."

"Alright," Wolf clapped him on the shoulder before striding briskly toward the two, "What's going on here?"

If he had been expecting angry retorts and remarks from either of them, he was disappointed. The two turned toward him simultaneously, "Nothing, sir."

"Yeah?" He glanced at them suspiciously, "Nothing at all?"

"No."

"Then what was with the glaring?" Wolf would have mentioned Mayford's tightly clenched fist that had still yet to be reversed but he chose not see, sensing that the action was almost unconscious, "I don't care what childhood dramas you two have. If you're being a nuisance and disruption to the station, you will be suspended. Am I clear?"

"Yes."

"Yes _sir_ ," Wolf stressed the title, pushing his points even further to make sure that they both got it loud and clear.

"Yes sir."

* * *

They, in the end, decided to walk home instead of hailing a cab. Alex did not want to talk but Fletcher looked as if he wanted to if only to make his repetitive point once again.

"The world is not a friend," Fletcher began gingerly, angling his head slightly to catch Alex's flickering eyes, "And I don't carry a moral compass in my line of work."

Alex just humphed, a mixture of a snort and a burst of skepticism at the comment. He let Fletcher take the rein of the conversation.

"So if you're bitter at my action, I understand," The assassin nodded to himself, "But I will not allow you to tell me who I am and who I am not."

"You're an assassin who takes joy in killing people." And yet, Alex dully thought, he was walking with the said assassin.

"It's my job, but yes," His tone was even and calm, betraying no detectable emotions, "I do. People say it's God's will, that we should not harm each other, but I do beg to differ. Other animals will eat their own child simply because they needed the nutrients. The people I kill—no, I wouldn't say they deserve to die—had it coming. People are not killed simply because it is fun. They're killed because it's necessary."

"So," Snapping in a flare of anger, Alex turned, "Soldiers in war, they're killed because it's necessary?"

At this, Fletcher really stopped and turned, "Ever read Romeo and Juliet?"

"Yes, what does that—"

"Then you'd know that peace comes with a great sacrifice, willingly or not," The assassin continued, beckoning for Alex to follow him despite the first sign of irritation flashing over his features, "And I'm not obliged to explain my every action to you."

A heavy silence filled the air until Alex felt necessary to say something, "Fine, okay. No more questions. Let's talk about the diamond. Where is it? Did you get it?"

A small sly smile lit up his face as the assassin reached into his pocket and palmed the jewel, holding it concealed in his hand but clear enough for both of them to see, "Right here."

"Is this what we need?" Alex frowned as Fletcher returned the stolen good back inside his pocket, "Mission accomplished?"

"Uh-uh, far from it. This jewel was merely a…side quest of mine."

They had reached the house and as if it were his own house, Fletcher leaped up the remaining steps to reach the door first. The house was naturally empty since Tom and James were both righteously at school, receiving tedious assignments involving color pencils—because face it, every single project the professors assigned all consisted of drawings and color pencils—and probably groaning about the hardship of the last month of school.

"A side quest?" Alex caught up with him, remembering to shut the door with a kick of his leg, "So you're saying…?"

"It's a side quest," The mere repetition did not help. At all. Seeing his mildly irritated confused look, Fletcher sighed, "To eliminate the…less intelligent competitions I have. In short, I went on offense, and I took out the easier enemies."

That would have made an excellent teaching lesson if only the words 'eliminate' and 'took out' weren't as literal as they were, "And the diamond?"

"The Boss loves a good laugh," Fletcher shrugged, "But that aside, I believe I know exactly where our job—the real one—is."

His attention infinitely times sharpened, Alex turned in surprise. He hadn't really expected the assassin to be working away while everything else was happening. Though he supposed underestimating Scorpia agents was never a good idea to begin with, "You did?"

"I did," Fletcher seemed to be in a good mood to be playing the repetition game, Alex noted dryly as a short grin lit up the man's face, "It's right in the precinct, funny enough. Though I can't blame the boss for doing things this way—this city, after all, is very…sacred to him."

"Sounds like the start of a nightmare."

He hummed, "It does, doesn't it?"

Alex frowned, screwing his face up into an ugly imitation of Fletcher's face, and repeated his statement in an annoying voice, " _'It does, doesn't it?'_ " His face fell back into one of dry irritation, "You seem to be in a flipping good mood today."

"Perhaps," Loitering in the kitchen, Fletcher's eyes lit up as he found his mug, or rather, Tom's mug. His mate had tried to convince Fletcher to take a different mug, but much like the stray cat James had picked up back in ninth grade, the assassin was stubborn in claiming the mug as his own, commenting that the simple lopsided red dot on the mug symbolized blood—a fitting icon of him. Despite Tom's numerous attempt at correcting Fletcher that it's not blood but his failed attempt at drawing a cherry, Fletcher did not listen.

"Perhaps?"

The man ignored him, "I need you to go down to the file room tomorrow. In the precinct. And look for the box titled Vlad Lylian Veitch. It should be on shelf seven, number 77."

"And you know that…how?"

"I had my suspicions," The mug was filled with cold coffee from the morning but Fletcher didn't seem to mind, "That aside. Once you find the box, look inside, see if there's anything that stands out."

Alex rounded the sofa and plopped himself down with a weary sigh, "Like what? Shady Scorpia message titled 'Rob Another Stupid Bank Pretty Please'?"

"Please, your imagination exceeds my expectations," Fletcher looked almost pained by his childish antics, "I want you to look through the box and record down everything you see in there. Then I'll decide what's important and what's not."

Straightening as if receiving assignments from the Queen Herself, Alex cleared his throat and voiced his question, "Why can't you do it? You're now part of the police."

The assassin plopped himself down next to him and took a long sip of his coffee, "The Commander does not hold me in the highest regard but you, on the other hand, he trusts."

"Begrudgingly," Alex corrected him dryly, "Wolf doesn't trust me as much as you think. Last time I check, I fist a hole in one of his squad cars."

"You were mentally unstable, I'm sure you are long ago forgiven," Fletcher dismissed the idea cruelly with his typical brutal truths, "Tom told me how he smuggled your identity into the police. It's ingenious, I'd say, but no matter how many layers of documents you put in, covering all aspects from the police academy to preschool even, if they ask any 'classmate' of yours, they would know the truth."

"So what?" Alex shrugged, "I'll just say I don't like people, that I have people-phobia."

The rest of the coffee was chugged in one swallow before the man remarked, "The word you're looking for is anthropophobia and believe me, any low-grade detective can burn through that lie. Believe me when I say the Commander holds you to a pretty high regard, but why, I do not know. You need to use that trust to get what's needed to be done _done_. I—"

"Whoa whoa whoa, hold your scorpion _right_ there," Alex interrupted him rudely, holding up his hands as if physically stopping a runaway train, "What's this I hear about betraying people's trust?"

"I did not say that."

"You might as well," Alex huffed, unable to believe that he was teaching morality to a Scorpia assassin, "Look, it's wrong to betray people's trust. Fine, I'll try to get the stuff you need, but don't ever tell me to betray people who trust me."

A strange look flickered behind the calculating eyes, "Tell me, do you consider going down to the file room to take a look at a file box—that the Commander did _not_ tell you to _not_ look at—an act of betrayal?"

"Well…"

"Exactly."

Tom and James' entrance into the house was timed right before Fletcher could continue twisting his mind with all the lies. The sweaty and mentally-drained pair did not see the lounging two until they were very close to dropping their schoolbag on them. Tom did a double-take and leaped up as if he had seen a cockroach.

"Dude, mate!" Tom exclaimed in mild irritation, swatting the top of Alex's head, "Make a sound, would you? Hello there, Mr. Emo-man."

"Good afternoon, Tom, James," Fletcher made sure to make the two feel welcome, at their own home, as he stood up graciously, "How was school?"

Tom gave Fletcher the stink-eye, "Dude? Not cool. Stop with that 'I am your Big Bro' posture. But school was fine, thank you for asking."

Alex waited two seconds. Tom wouldn't stop ranting about everything that was wrong with school when someone willingly gave him the chance, assassin or not, "Since you asked, lemme tell you about this stupid project we've just received. Build a model train that can run using the laws of physics and the batteries and all that insane stuff. Like, good mate, why? If I can build a freaking train I'd be an engineer already instead of being stuck in school listening to your lectures. Oh wait, you don't teach at all! You know what our physics professor does? He gives us notes to fill in and tell us to," Tom took a break and put on his best imitation, " _Fill in the blanks, kids. You can find all the answers on page blah blah blah_. Please, man, let me read my textbook in peace without looking for all the stupid answers. I'm already half-dead from reading that moldy old sad excuse of a textbook. It's like, they have the money to renovate the basketball court—which I never used, not even once, by the way—but they don't have money to get new textbooks. You know what we learned in Pre-Calc back in eighth? Matrices, those big fat ugly rectangles filled with numbers. Hello? Who uses matrices anyways? We're not in World War One anymore, I don't—"

"Okay, mate—"

"Don't you 'okay mate' me," Tom said haughtily but Alex could easily interpret it as excited to finally have someone to listen to his rant for the billionth time, "As I was saying. Matrices. You know who uses those ugly rectangles? Soldiers from way back in time when they try to send messages. Open your eyes, people! We have technology…Speaking of which, have you seen the state of our computer room? We have giant computers. I mean, seriously, giant screen monitors, you know, those box-looking things. Half of them runs on Windows XP and the other half have broken keyboards that your fingers get caught in while typing. You know what we learned? We learned how to type. How to _type_ of all things! That's an insult to my intelligence. Though I suppose I'm just more smart—"

"You mean smarter—"

"—than my classmates because you know how slow they type? They're slower than a sloth and it pains every piece of my soul just to hear them clanking away, stupidly, on the keyboards."

Fletcher cleared his throat and Alex almost jumped up just to give the assassin a well-deserved hug for the interruption, "I'd love to hear more, it's been a long time since my school, but Alex here needs his beauty sleep," Alex shot him a glare, "He's had a traumatizing day and the Commander of the police would not be pleased if he goes to work tomorrow with pale features from lack of sleep."

"Traumatizing day?" Tom turned to him, finally stopping in his rant to allow the silence whoosh back into the living room in a lively and welcoming breeze, "It's four in the afternoon, mate."

"Emo-man's right," James piped in almost too eagerly, "Alex does look a little pale," He gave Alex a dark look as if threatening him to look pale or else, "And he really needs a beauty sleep to get rid of the traumatizing event that Emo-man mentioned."

James didn't even ask what the event was, he just wanted to stop Tom's rant knowing that brutal assaults and calls for stop were never going to work.

"Yeah, alright," Tom sighed, "I guess I need ice-cream anyways."

Poor poor Tom and his untainted innocent soul.


	14. The Kill Mission

A.N.: So yes, surprise surprise. I'm alive. (that rhymed, wait, this also rhymed) It has been exactly 20 days since my last update and it has been, let's see, 8 days since school was officially over. As you can see, I have been about as productive as a couch potato. Not gonna promise update within a week (even though I have so much extra time) but I will swear to God honestly try, and also definitely try to finish my other almost-finished stories as well and also work on TF...when I list it all out, I suddenly realize I'm such a procrastinator who has no idea how to plan her life.

Anyways, this chapter was written in the span of I think a month, not counting the time that I simply opened the doc and pretended that I was actually working on it. Also, I used to do the whole review-reply section thing, but honestly, I'm lazy so now I'll just try to reply to each individual review so if you're a guest, GET AN ACCOUNT,,, okay, no, kidding, I'll try to post the replies after each chapter if you're a guest reader (but it's hard to distinguish guest reader from guest reader...)

* * *

"Alex…" Fletcher looked every piece in the world like he was about to shed tears in disbelief as he massaged the bridge of his nose in withering distress, "When I said to take a _look_ at the box, I didn't mean for you to take the box _home_."

Rifting through the belongings encased in plastic bags, Alex shrugged without a care, "Well, Wolf had me investigating the Crawford case earlier this morning so I happened to be in the file room. Took the box you asked me because the light was broken and I can barely read anything," Before Fletcher could propose better methods, Alex's thought was already elsewhere, "Speaking of the Crawford case, I'm gonna speak with his wife later. We found Scorpia cards in the crime scene. You wouldn't know anything about it, do you?"

His slow mind didn't exactly register what he said and only when Fletcher arched an eyebrow and said, "are you asking me if I know what's going on inside Scorpia?" did he realized.

"Yeah," Alex blundered straight through his mistake.

"I can tell you that—"

"But then you'll have to kill me," Alex rolled his eyes with his worst impression of Fletcher, completed with a nasal tone, "Blah blah blah, yaddah yaddah yaddah, I'm a top-secret super assassin so I can't share information with peasants like you. I get it, I do, no need to explain. You just go…chill on the side and let me investigate. If I do find something, I'll make sure to run through you first so I don't get killed by Scorpia."

Fletcher sighed as he plopped sugars into his coffee, "You do remember we're partners, right?"

His hands paused, "Oh. _Right_."

"Good," The assassin nodded as he set his coffee down on the table, "Why don't you fill me in on the case? I can play detective too."

"Scorpia agent solving Scorpia crime," Alex snorted as he went back into delving through the belongings, "Funny. Sort of twisted too. It's like murderer solving his own crime but all the while trying to cover his own track," He frowned as he pulled out a piece of crumbled napkin, "Hey Fletcher, you didn't kill Crawford, right? Please say you didn't, I don't want to have a duel with you. I can't even juggle less shoot—."

"Stop."

"...Okay."

Fletcher squatted down next to him and began poking through the file box containing Vlad Lylian Veitch's belongings, "So, you first saw this Benjamin Crawford in a holding cell. Do you know what he confessed to?"

"Well," Alex nearly sneezed as a particularly large wave of dust scattered in the air from the centuries-old belongings, "At first, he wasn't willing to confess because apparently, some shady people held his wife hostage. I'm guessing it was Scorpia. Then I walked in and he said 'Bunkhouse'."

"Bunkhouse?"

"That's what he said," He snorted, "Said the killer told him to tell me that."

"What does it mean?"

"No idea," Shaking his head, Alex stuck his hand back into the mess that was the box, "Hey, what happened to this Vlad guy? Why are his belongings in the precinct? Don't they go back to him?"

Fletcher was flipping through a dusty folder when Alex voiced his thoughts. He snapped it shut, sending another cloud of dust into the air—which Alex found very annoying by the way, "Remember what I told you about Mr. Veitch's wife?"

"The dead one?"

" _Yes_ ," The assassin eyed him, "The dead one. His _only_ wife, may I remind you. These are all belongings from when he was caught after the shooting against his son. Mr. Veitch was sent to prison for life on numerous charges, no parole. Let's just say there's no one to return his personal belongings to and the police probably wasn't too keen on pursuing the matter."

"That's cold," Alex poked through the belongings absently as he pondered, "So you're saying all these stuff happened here? Like right splat in London? Two feet from where I live? Sounds like a big fat coincidence to me."

"Things are happening here for a reason," Fletcher muttered equally absently as he pulled out a CD case and muttered a quick uncharacteristic 'aha' under his breath, "I think I've got it."

"Got what?"

Fletcher stood to his feet with the casing and moved to the TV set, "The clues. Do you have a CD player?"

Shifting to the stand so he was not left behind by Fletcher's two-hundred-miles-per-hour incoherent thoughts, Alex shook his head, "No. We're poor. My player broke a week ago and also, Tom's poor. His parents didn't really leave him with much when they go traveling twenty-four-six."

"Twenty-four six?"

"Twenty four hours, six days per week," Alex nodded, "It's something I thought of. Amazing, isn't it?"

"It's imbecilic, provides additional evidence of your foolishness," Fletcher didn't give him much time to look affronted before slipping the CD into his inner pocket and pointed at the box, "You're in charge of putting that back."

Alex opened his mouth, the word 'what?' about to explode through but the assassin 'nah-uh'ed him, "You took it, you return it."

" _You_ asked me to take it," Alex stubbornly stood his ground. He wasn't going to let some deadly—highly deadly, very deadly—assassin bully him around.

"Alright," Fletcher clasped his hands together as if humoring him, "Now I'm asking you, _kindly_ , to return it."

Sometimes Alex thought that if Fletcher hadn't been an assassin for Scorpia, they would have been friends, like _friends_ friends, not the current you-say-anything-I-will-kill-you friends. See, he was great at making friends, as he kept telling Tom. They had great chemistry, sort of like sulfuric acid and hydrogen peroxide.

Begrudgingly, Alex grunted and placed the lid back on the box, "Okay, fine. _Fine_. Be that way, see if I care."

The last drop of the coffee was gulped down by the man. The assassin reached around the dining room chair and pulled on his coat. Sleeves pressed down and folded and haired brushed back, Fletcher grabbed his car key, "I'll give you a lift?"

Alex shot him a glare which the man countered smartly, "Unless, of course, you want to take your bike?"

"Yes? No? Oh right," Fletcher clicked his tongue at his response, or the lack thereof, "The silence treatment. Well, either way, you are going to talk to me because you still have to go over the whole case with me—in the car or on your bike."

Alex humphed and moved toward the door, grabbing his bike helmet and placing it on top of the file box under his arm. He was so not talking to Fletcher.

 _Then you can listen to me talk_ , Fletcher's voice came through his earpiece as well as from behind him and Alex did groan when the man continued, "So can I give you a lift? Yes? I'll take that as a yes. C'mon, I don't want to keep my new boss waiting."

* * *

"Hello ma'am, I am Officer Mayford and this is Officer Lionel," Alex plastered on his best customer smile as the woman opened the door, "We're here regarding your husband."

"I…I'm sorry but, um," She swallowed in slight confusion, her hand still on the door handle, "Who?"

Her eyes looked a little bloodshot and her hands were animated, constantly shifting despite their clench on the edge of her shirt. They could smell alcohol from where they stood and Alex didn't need to be a detective to guess why her eyes were bloodshot.

"Your husband Benjamin Crawford," Alex said, taking a quick step forward but not entering, "You are his wife Mrs. Beck Crawford, aren't you?"

"Oh, yes, yes, I am," Beck nodded frantically, her free hand pulling back a strand of dirty blond hair from her face, "Do you have his belongings? Um, when he left that morning, he had a…wallet on him? I think? And his watch…"

She sounded as if she was trying to forage for anything valuable off her dead husband's body. Alex dipped his head for a quick second, "Yes, ma'am. We have his belongings but we need to ask you a few questions first. Do you mind if we come in?"

"Yeah, I do," She was a mess of responses, "I mean, no, no, um, don't come in," Her hand flew to her mouth as she bit nervously on her fingernails, "I'm sorry but it's just that, uh, it's not a good time right now. Can we just…Can we just talk outside?"

Alex shrugged and stepped back to give her a wider personal space, "If that's more convenient, please."

Her jeans were ripped and tattered, shifting with her body lazily as she stuck her hands in her pocket, "So, what you want to talk about? If it's debt, um, it'll take me a few days but I'll get it to you. Soon."

"No, it's not about money," Alex said when she closed the door behind her, "We're the police and we just want to find out why your husband was killed."

"Okay," She wrapped her arms around herself and nodded, "Okay."

"Your husband mentioned someone holding you hostage the day he was detained, do you know who they are?"

"Hostage?" Beck's eyes were glassy and unfocused but the confusion was real, "No, no hostage. There was only a man. He told me I was safe."

"A man?"

"Yes, he didn't tell me his name," Swallowing and shifting, her eyes fell on her feet in a moment of uncontrolled nervousness as the memories came to her, "He knocked and I opened the door and he pulled me inside. Um, inside my house. And he told me he was sent here. He said it's alright and I'm safe. I didn't know what he was talking about because," She gave a quick laugh as her eyes flickered up, "Because he's just a stranger and he probably got the wrong house. He said to let him stay a little bit so I did. I made him tea. He didn't drink the tea. He said he didn't like tea."

"Can you describe the man for us?"

A frail hand reached up to brushed back her hair again as Beck nodded, "He was tall, strong, younger than me. He had dark hair but he was wearing a mask. I thought he was robbing us at first so I didn't resist and let him in. We didn't have anything really. I just didn't want to die. I wanted to call Ben but, um, he said, the man said, he doesn't want me calling anyone. Then we just sat there. I read the newspaper and he was just sitting there. Waiting."

"Waiting for what?"

Her head shook violently and the heel of her palm was pushed against her temple, "I don't…I don't know. Probably a call because he kept glancing at his phone. Then his phone rang and then he told me to watch myself. He left after."

"Okay," Alex exchanged a quick uncertain glance with Fletcher, "Thank you, ma'am. That was really helpful and that would be all. You can come down to the station anytime to get his belongings. He will be moved to a funeral home of your choice or be cremated—"

"No," Beck grabbed him by the shoulder, "No funeral home, no funeral home. We…I, I can't…"

Fletcher's strong grip settled on her arm and gently pried it away from Alex, "That's fine, we only wish to inform you. If you need any help," The assassin reached into his pocket and pulled out a card—Mayford's card, Alex noted dryly—, "Please feel free to call us."

"Okay," She pulled her other hand away as if stung and took the card hesitantly, "Mayford, okay. Call you if I need help."

"Yes, ma'am."

A small furtive smile gingerly tugged her lips up, "Thank you."

Then they left. The precinct was its usual flurry of activities when they arrived. Wolf was in his office, typing away on his computer and every now and then leafing through the piles of paperwork on his table. Alex had made sure to keep his paperwork pile to the absolute minimum and Tom had been a great help to understanding the formatting. Though he still doubted that Wolf trusted him in regards to paperwork for the commander was adamantly stubborn in breathing down his neck, every now and then, while he formulated the paper.

"I'll grace myself with the hospitality of the police station," Fletcher pulled out the CD case from his pocket as Alex sat down in his chair.

"You're just sulking because Tom doesn't have a CD player," Alex remarked dryly as he spun absently in his chair, "Yeah, shuffle along, I think I'm gonna go downtown and talk with my other case."

"Your _other_ case?" Fletcher arched an eyebrow.

"Yeah, a Mr. Sebastien Morrison," Alex groaned, "Everything just got jumbled together into one big case. They're all connected by Scorpia, somehow, and I just need to find out why," He eyed Fletcher as he spoke, "And make sure I am still alive by the end of all this."

"Scorpia is not a monster, contrary to popular belief."

Alex rolled his eyes with a huff, "Oh yeah, popular belief. As if there's enough _public_ left who actually knows Scorpia's existence."

He himself had only heard of Scorpia about half a year ago when his father first disappeared and the assassin had asked to meet up and talk about negotiating terms. His father was hiding from Scorpia, the well-known assassin organization amongst the espionage world.

"We don't kill because we can," Fletcher was saying, "After all, you're still alive when I could have killed you a hundred and seventy-four different ways in a day," The assassin scooted off his desk, flapping the CD disk in the air a few times for good measures, "If the commander asks, tell him we split up to accomplish more."

"Oh hey, commander," Alex screwed his face up in an ugly imitation, "Yeah, Lionel and I, we're just splitting up, even though we're partners and _partners are not supposed to do that when one's out in the field_."

"Keep going, you're off to a good start," Fletcher didn't even bother looking over his shoulder at his words.

His groan was heard but not acknowledged. Alex gave his chair a final spin-around before grabbing his radio and reattaching it to his uniform. While Fletcher might have time to daisy around, he had murders to solve. His footsteps faltered at his thought.

That sounded cool. _He had murders to solve_. Sounded like some epic—

"Where are you heading off now," A rude voice interrupted him, "Officer Mayford? Where's your assigned partner?"

Goddammit. Why did Wolf always have to be there? He was like some persistent bug that would always be there when he didn't want it.

"Hello, Commander," Alex spun around gracefully, successfully clicking his heels together in a grand finale, "Good afternoon. I was just about to go have a little talk with Mr. Sebastien Morrison."

"What for?" The commander didn't attempt to disguise the loud smack as he dropped the paperwork in his arms unceremoniously on Alex's desk.

"Well," He jerked his thumb in the general direction of the double doors, "My first victim, Mr. Crawford, died with Mr. Morrison's brother. Maybe there is a connection that I'm not seeing."

"Alright," Wolf seemed to answer almost too quickly to Alex's liking so he waited, "How long will that take you?"

"I don't know," He shrugged easily and crossed his arms, frowning in slight confusion at Wolf's weird display, "Something wrong, sir? You're acting a little too," His fingers twirled as he tried to find the words, "Raccoon-weird there."

"What in the world is…" Wolf opened his mouth with an exasperated expression plastered on his face before he swallowed the rhetorical question, "Where's Fletcher?"

He glanced behind him toward the supply room then shrugged, "Probably somewhere around, I think," Oh right, what was that excellent excuse Fletcher had him practice only minutes ago? "Oh hey, commander. Yeah, Lionel and I, we're, you know, splitting up temporarily—even though we're partners and partners are not supposed to do that when one's going out in the field."

If Alex had been expecting some sort of Wolf-ish reaction, he was greatly disappointed. The man didn't seem to have heard his excuse. Wolf's evident frown replaced his exasperation as the commander shifted almost uncomfortably before him, his mind in a place far far away. Wait. _Wait_. Alex's sulking expression was lightning-fast in morphing into one of an undisguised sly gleeful grin as he realized, "Don't tell me, you're nervous about something—no, I'm not a psychic, thank you very much—but anxiety attack is evident in your posture."

Abandoning his root-to-the-floor stance, Mayford mock-thoughtfully paced in a lopsided circle around the irritated commander, "You're anxious and, aha, you're embarrassed too because you're growling like a wolf now. Interesting. You're talking to me instead of one of the supervising staff, so it's not really anything police related. So it's about me."

"No shit Sherlock," Wolf didn't bother hiding it anymore as he crossed his arms, "Keep guessing, and I'll introduce your face to the wall." Before Alex could say anything, Wolf continued, "Stay behind after shift, find me in my office. I want you to meet a few people."

Alex frowned. He had not really expected that. "A few people? Who?"

"You'll see," The wolfish grin didn't reassure him at all.

The man brushed past him brightly after tapping the paperwork on his desk a few times to make sure they were bigger than an elephant in the room. Alex didn't like it when Wolf was acting 'bright'.

Well, if things headed toward the country of Bad—for example it's-a-trap-to-kill-Alex bad—he could always call up Fletcher to kill him with one of his hundred and seventy-four different ways before Wolf could. He loved insurance.

* * *

 _In an undisclosed location_

The door opened but the man by the window didn't move. The sound of the metal hinges clashing softly echoed for a moment.

"Mr. Gregorovich," The new presence announced.

No response was heard but the cool glint in the assassin's eyes spoke more than what was necessary. The man plowed forward as he poured himself a cup of water from the table but merely setting it back on the wood, "How is your Recruit—Claire, was it?—doing?"

"Fine," The pale man replied before turning back to face the window where he had yet to move for a long while, "You wish to speak to me."

"Please," The man opened his arms as if to show he was hiding nothing, "Take a seat. Don't be so tense." And when Gregorovich refused, he continued, not at all offended, "I believe we have a traitor in our midst, and you know who I'm talking about."

In the time he took a quick sip, Gregorovich finally shifted and moved past the window with his back to the wall, "Fletcher is a valuable agent."

The man had learned long time ago that the tone of the reply didn't mean anything. It wasn't an agreement nor a disagreement. It was nothing more than a fact.

"That is he," The man watched his assassin's face carefully despite knowing that Gregorovich would betray no emotions unless he wanted others to see, "And that's what makes him a danger to us. To me."

The brilliant blue eyes flickered for the slightest moments, "He has done nothing against you worth noticing."

"Who says he hasn't?" The man began pacing slowly, "Fletcher and I, we were never close, even though I helped him killed the man he once called a mentor. It was nothing more than a code of honor amongst assassins." Gregorovich did not speak, "Fletcher is a wild card that I must eliminate."

He didn't trust Fletcher. While Fletcher was one of his best assassins, second perhaps only to Gregorovich, every move the assassin had made so far was suspicious. Fletcher and him, they had never really seen each other eye-to-eye.

The man continued, "You know what to do."

"He is a Mentor in your game," The assassin finally spoke his thoughts. The man had always liked Gregorovich's softly spoken tone, mixed just the barest tinge of the roll of Russian ancestry, "And the game has yet to finish."

The man chuckled softly, answering the rhetorical statement, "Then take him out as a competitor. But that's not what you're saying, is it?" He observed Gregorovich slowly, "You're talking about the child. John Rider's son, isn't he?"

"Yes," His tone was mild but the slight turn of his head denoted that the man had successfully gotten an emotion out of him.

Before him, it was Julia Rothman as the head of Scorpia. He didn't know the depth of the history between John Rider and Gregorovich but if even parts of the rumor he had heard were true, those two adept agents of opposite side had been more than teacher-and-student. Some would say they were even _friends_ , if such a word existed in Gregorovich's dictionary—and that was Gregorovich's weakness. He was being dragged down by the MI6 agent who had disappeared almost a decade and a half ago. Gregorovich might have broken whatever spell John Rider cast on him, but the emergence of his child had dragged his best assassin back under the gratuitous influence again.

Alex Rider was an anchor that needed to be cut. Destroyed.

"Then you kill the child as well," The man stepped forward, "Kill the child. Then Fletcher, by the rules of this game, will rightfully be killed."

Gregorovich didn't answer.

"I trust the child will be an easy task?"

The assassin turned back to face the window, his face reflecting dimly against the nightscape. The man couldn't gauge an expression but he suspected the assassin's mind was already miles away calculating his next step. It was a while before Gregorovich answered him. "Yes."

* * *

 **A.N.:** Thanks for reading!

Also also, shameless promotion, check out my story 'Seek, and You Will Find' if you haven't already. It's written entirely in Wolf's point of view, pretty freeform to some extent, and was born without a solid plot at all. To those that have read it: yes, I was literally born in the world of writing Feels and Emotional craps and is already too deep to climb back out.


	15. Red Handkerchief

A.N.: ahhhhhha, here I am. I am officially, sort of, back on track with the rest of my stories. Ish.

* * *

There was often a period during one's life where everything they did would be questioned and thoroughly criticized. Or rather, two, if he counted midlife crisis. No, he was not counting the moment before pressing the GO button on a time-travel machine. Though if the future Alex had managed to get his hands on a time-traveling machine, he had yet to come to visit the present failed prototype Alex.

That aside. Back to the present. Right, Existential Crisis. Alex supposed he was having one every two seconds after meeting Fletcher and every one millisecond upon teaming up with the man.

"Mayford," Wolf was saying, "I'd like you to meet Eagle."

"Eagle?" It took him a moment to shake himself out of his reverie. Alex arched an eyebrow, "As in bald eagle Eagle?"

"It's a nickname of a sort," The man, Eagle, replied, easily hopping off the desk and walked over to extend a hand, "Nice to meet ya. We should get along fine."

Alex grinned as he took the proffered firm handshake, "I'm sure." He liked the man instantly. There was something very likable about Eagle, in comparison to Wolf.

"I'm Wolf's unit buddy," The soldier said, "Staying for a few days 'cuz Wolfie wanted someone to come down here from their sweet vacation to check up on the supernatural events occurring."

Alex shifted his gaze past Eagle to Wolf and gave him a thumbs up, to which the man shut his eyes with an exasperated groan, "Alright, break it up. Mayford, get back to work. Eagle, stay."

So Alex took the cue to exit, dramatically giving them a small bow as he shut the door behind him. A mildly amused Fletcher was waiting for him at the end of his show, his hands in his pocket and looking all in the world like a real police.

"I know that face," Alex started.

"You do?"

"I called it. That's the face when you have something to say. What's wrong?"

"Beck Crawford reported her home being invaded ten minutes ago," Fletcher filled him in as Alex grabbed his coat from the back of his seat, sending the chair spinning with momentum, "I was thinking we should take the chance to look through her house."

Sounded immoral, "Why?" Alex frowned, "We're off in…" He checked the clock, "Five minutes."

"She refused entry last time we tried," Fletcher offered to drive, his hand out for the key, but Alex rolled his eyes with an 'as if', "She's hiding something, you know I'm not talking about the illegal drugs she has."

"Just because she refused to invite big scary cops into her humble lodging doesn't mean she's hiding something," He didn't know why he rushed to the poor widow's defense, but the words tasted right, "Fine. We'll take a sweep. No funny ideas, alright. I don't know what you want with the house, but assassin and dead victim's wife don't sound good in the same sentence."

Perhaps being a policeman wasn't half bad, Alex thought wryly as he started the engine. Not because of the car, no, but of the things they did. Like some sort of cliche superhero drama show thing on its two-hundredth rerun but never getting old. They helped people in need, which was certainly something Alex had yet to do for the past half a year. The past year had been a hectic cycle of balancing trying to find his father with the insane stunts he pulled alongside Tom and James.

Ah dammit. Existential Crisis speaking again.

The police already had the scene sealed off with solid yellow tape, with which the bold black text stood out like stripes on bees. Alex supposed they got a few minutes or so before the real detectives come for their scene—wasn't there a division called home invasion or something?—and he told Fletcher similar.

Beck Crawford was sitting on an uncomfortable chair and they soon saw the reason why. The sofa was ripped apart like some sort of savage animal had managed to run loose. Tables were overturned, frames shattered, and the kitchen cabinets reduced into piles of broken bits and pieces of porcelain. The fluff of the inside of the pillow had been ripped out and scattered, determined to illustrate the process of a wild beast.

"Hey," Alex crossed the room to her as Fletcher gestured he would take a look around, "You alright?"

Beck wasn't crying. She sat, solemn and clearly distressed, in the chair, shifting as he neared to get into a more comfortable position. Her mumbled affirmative was barely loud enough over the rustle of words and a small crowd past the open doorway.

"You sure?"

"Yeah, yeah, I'm okay," Her hand brushed back her hair. She really needed a hair clip, Alex thought then squashed the insensitive comment back down, "You, you want my statement, right?"

"Just tell me what happened. Don't worry, we're only interested in the who behind this." _And not what you have in the house._ Alex hoped the unsaid phrase could somehow make her less bottled up. It must have taken her a great deal of time trying to decide between calling the police, risk getting busted on drugs, or hiding her drug but not getting the justice she deserved and needed.

"I…I got home. It was about, um, six o'clock," Her furtive glance at him told him that she was afraid of him asking where she was. He didn't, instead, he nodded for her to continue, "I didn't drive. I walked home because I was drinking, at the pub. And this was how I found my house. I knew something was wrong when I realized the door wasn't locked. I always lock the door, it's just never once have I missed it. Then I saw everything was just thrown everywhere. But my wedding ring wasn't stolen. It was probably the most valuable thing in this house. I don't know who did it, or what they want."

"Was there anything missing though?"

"I don't know," She shook her head, her hands trembling in her laps, "I couldn't find anything in this mess. If they took something, I don't know what until I can clean this all up."

"Right," Dying a little inside at the insensitivity of his questions toward the clearly distressed woman—and only days after her husband's death, "I'm sorry about this. We will catch whoever it was."

"Thank you," The words were hollow.

Fletcher appeared by his side, holding up a piece of ripped red handkerchief in a plastic bag before of the woman gingerly, "This was caught in a nail on one of the chairs. Do you know what this might belong to?"

A glance. "Ben doesn't like anything red," Beck shrugged, "I don't know. I'm not sure."

"Okay," Fletcher backed off and jerked his head toward the door, "Let's go. They're here."

Alex hastily told the woman that someone else was going to ask her to go over it again for the official record, and she nodded, completely dejected as if saying that there was nothing she could do anyway. They evaded the tall striding pair heading to the house, ducking their head low pretending to be one of the perimeter guards to move past the tape.

"You satisfied?" His grumbling was dissolved in the spur of noise from the engine as he turned the key. Alex kept his attention split between the rear-view mirror and the side as he reversed out of the curb spot, nearly colliding with a cyclist. No, that was _not_ his fault. It was the idiotic biker's fault, "Who's special handkerchief is that? Are you really allowed to bag it? Also, we're ten minutes overtime."

"Funny you ask," Fletcher didn't seem to hear his overtime statement, "While I do not know who this belongs to, I know what the symbol on this is."

"It's a large E and a large K, somehow intertwine to form what they called art and I called scribbling."

"It belongs to the gang," Fletcher didn't bat an eye at his interruption, "Let's take this back to the commander. We might go overtime," _Ha_ , so Fletcher _had_ heard him, "But don't you want justice for the poor woman?"

"Since why are you so sympathetic?" He paused, "Or is it empathy? Did your house burn to the ground in an ugly childhood event? Something so traumatic would definitely drive you toward the path of an assassin."

"Keep dreaming, you can spin a book out of that," Fletcher's dry tone was duly noted, "But tell me, don't you want to visit gang hangouts?"

"Wolf took me there once," Alex rolled his eyes at the lack of concrete persuasion, "We talked, they said they would stop. They didn't stop, so the police sort of moved off it as long as no one gets hurt." He paused as a thought hit him, "The day they found Crawford's body at the dump site, there was also another guy. He looks about your age."

"And you happened to know my age?"

"Your age? Well, now that you ask, I'm guessing two hundred. Vampires can live that long."

"Forget I ask," Fletcher eyed him, "Please go on."

"He also had the same design," His hands on the steering wheel restricted his limb movements so he had to jerk his head at the plastic bag in Fletcher's hand, "Tattooed on him. His name was Cross Morrison. I talked to his brother a few days ago, the place he worked at was broken into and a painting stolen. And I met Claire, but that's a whole different story I would rather not go into because her Mentor gives me the creeps."

Beside him, the assassin shifted in mild interest, "She was part of the Game? And you're still alive?"

"I'm amazed as well, thank you for your concern, but well, we shook hands and negotiated temporary peace. No, don't distract me, that's not where I was going with my story. Cross Morrison," He took a breath to pull his thoughts back around, "He was part of the gang, but he was also found dead, killed by Scorpia. And now the gang went through Crawford's poor widow's house like it was playground day. Where does Scorpia fit in all this? Why were Crawford and Cross killed?"

"I'd love to help the police out for once," Fletcher shut his eyes wryly, "But I'm not always privy to Scorpia's plans. I'm glad, however, that you thought of me as an almighty divinator."

"So you've no idea at all? Or are you just saying it so you don't have to get my blood on your hand?" Alex grinned.

"Why can't it be both?"

Alex rolled his eyes at the vagueness of the answer, "So Scorpia killed Crawford after taking time to threaten him with his wife. An organization group had somehow managed to extract the wife out of the dangerous situation while her husband spent his sweet time held up in a cell in the police station, refusing to claim his rightful innocence or withdraw his statement. Until I came along, so somehow I'm part of this messed up chemistry equation. God, I don't think I passed chemistry."

"You mentioned a man who told this Crawford to leave you a message," Fletcher snorted at his off-topic statement, "Perhaps you know him, somehow?"

A shook of his head, "That was my first day of being a fake police. I didn't get to see much of the actions, or the security tape for that matters. They still haven't found the 'strange' man and I haven't heard words of them successfully ID-ed the dead man either."

"If I remember correctly," Fletcher hummed, "He might be my former colleague Greg. He was kidnapped about a weeks ago, way before we teamed up, and never heard words from. He was a nice guy, but deadly all the same. Out of all of us, he was the one person who wouldn't have doubts about an introduction from a stranger at a pub. I wouldn't exactly be surprised that he was the first to be kidnapped."

"Greg? Are you going to tell Wolf that?"

"No, and you shouldn't either. At least not until you find your part in this so-called chemistry equation of yours."

Their conversation was, however, pulled to a stop much like his car before the red light when Fletcher pulled out his phone amid his sentence, his typical mildly-amused expression flickered. Strange.

Alex was tempted to lean into the man's personal space just to satisfy his curiosity of what made the flicker on the man's face when he said, "Huh."

"What?"

"Remember Julia Rothman?" Fletcher slid his phone back into his pocket.

"The agent?"

"One and only," The assassin nodded, "She just killed her recruit and got a new one."

"Uh," His lips were suddenly dry and his fingers slipping, "You can do that?"

"Well, as long as it is the Mentor who killed the recruit, yes," Fletcher sighed at his expression, "Relax, I'm not going to kill you."

"Is that something I want to hear or the truth?"

"Can't it be both?"

Alex rolled his eyes, "Yeah right. If I wake up tonight in cold sweat from nightmares, don't get up to talk with me, because I probably dreamed of you killing me."

"That's a pleasant thought."

"Sure is," They took the turn and stopped before the precinct.

The sun was setting, and the pinnacle of the sharp edge of the roof was like a piercing shard of glass cutting away the edge of the orange glow. Orange was a warm color. He shivered. The car rolled up the ramp and stopped in their spot. Alex stopped the engine and felt the shudder leave his body.

It wasn't all fun and games.

As he was about to push open the door to leave, Fletcher stopped him, "You don't want to go in right now."

"Why?"

"You will know."

Assassin paranoia tingling. Fine. Alex eased himself back into his seat and slumped back. The headlights were off, and he knew the sun shooting into his eyes would almost certainly prevent anyone else from spotting them.

"Why did she kill him?" Alex finally asked.

Fletcher turned, "He tried to kill your friend." He didn't answer his question. Perhaps the assassin had noted the sentiments in his voice.

"That doesn't make him a bad guy."

"Perhaps," Fletcher didn't disagree. Nor did he agree, Alex noted, "Everyone's a hero in their story."

"I thought he was in the precinct since this morning. They rounded him up for a few last questions. How did he die?"

Fletcher didn't reply and instead focused his gaze on the hurried officers behind the bright windows of the station. A dozen of them spilled into the cold dusk stairs, their guns out, and yelling orders that shattered through the unison silence and stillness that had spanned the vast space for a while, and had only been broken by a few insisting car horns. The officers seeped into the parking lot and the nearby perimeters and Fletcher nudged him to get out of the car.

"She killed the man from inside the precinct?" Alex's voice was no more than a soft whisper, afraid that it would carry further than either of them wanted. Fletcher's only reply was a nod and a jerk of his head toward the nearest officer.

The assassin jogged up to the man, shining a flashlight beforehand to not be mistaken as a suspect, "We just came back from our round. What happened?"

"Some goddamn crazy person stole into the station and killed a man we had in holding," She grumbled, eyes back to scanning after landing on Fletcher and Alex's uniform and their badge, "Couldn't have gone far."

"How long ago?" Alex asked.

"Only a few minutes. I was upstairs when I hear yelling. The bastard wounded Wilson, one of the two officers in charge of watching the man," She paused and jerked her head at their car, "You guys came back only seconds ago. Did you see anyone pulling out of the station in a hurry?"

"I don't know," Fletcher shook his head, a grimace perfectly gracing his features to show his sorrow, "We weren't paying attention."

"Yeah," A great sigh escaped her as she holstered her gun and spoke into her radio a negative, "None of us were."

A blaring siren of the ambulance rushed into the parking lot and two paramedics hopped off the front and rushed inside with the stretcher under the arm of one. They were met with no resistance as they blundered past the officers.

One by one, negative response buzzed along with the evening air. Red and blue splotches were thrown hazardously across the building walls and the harsh humming of the ambulance engines grew louder as they neared the station.

"You knew this is going to happen," Alex remarked.

"I pieced two and two together," The assassin admitted, "It's necessary to inform all agents when there's a change of Recruit."

"Why?"

"It's the rule."

"No, why did she kill him?"

They were back to square one again with the questions. Fletcher frowned as he shot him a sidelong glance, their feet carrying them up the stairs and through the slowly drifting officers. They made way for the two paramedics with the officer on the stretcher, Wilson, and his partner who was by his side the whole time, clutching his hands and didn't bother with his volume as he spoke loudly for Wilson to hold on. And that it was okay.

Alex felt his stomach churned and his eyes unable to be peeled away from the amount of blood drenching the cloth and makeshift bandages the paramedics had wounded around him in an attempt to staunch the blood flow.

"Julia has never been one to tolerate mistakes."

"She killed him because of her OCD?"

"There was no way she was going to spend time breaking him out of jail. Everyone, to her, is a pawn. Which is almost amusing, considering that she herself _is_ a pawn in this game. We all are."

"Why can't she just…leave him alive?"

"Leave no witness behind."

"God."

"Don't get sick over me."

Wolf was coming up from downstairs holding cells when they passed Alex's desk. He received a nod before the man brushed past him to deal with the rest of the station. There was order, but there was no order at the same time. The officers were concerned for one of their own, and Rothman was the reason for the unrest growing and brewing amongst them like porridge brewing over the stove, just waiting to erupt when the bubbling move past the lid.

"Let's wait for tomorrow before we go for the gang," Alex suggested as he slumped into his seat and rubbed his eyes, "I don't think Wolf wants to have anything more on his plate right now. We should go home."

"It will be quick," It wasn't a mild suggestion, and Alex was puzzled at the determination behind the words. Why was Fletcher so adamant on going?

"It's a gang," Alex argued, "They won't disappear overnight."

The assassin sat on his desk and glanced down at his slumped figure turning slowly in the chair, "Remember the CD I showed you?"

"What about it?"

"The gang is somehow part of it."

Alex brought his tired eyes up to the man's, "If that's the case, wouldn't it be better if we wait till morning? Blundering in the dark will hurt, especially around unfamiliar territories. Besides," He snorted, "A gang named Esonob? Sounds very dangerous."

"We need to go before tomorrow," Alex didn't like the insistence in his tone, "Think about it. The chance of the commander approving this operation, a random gang raid because some poor widow's home was ransacked, is slim come morning light. The security would be tighter around the precinct and everyone going in or out will need a definite purpose."

"Wait," Alex slowly drawled out the words, his brow knitting together, "You're suggesting we go by ourselves? Fletcher, that's bullshit. I still want to live, thank you very much."

"We go in, we ask why they did what they did, we walk out."

"Don't you guys have better methods?" Straightening, Alex glared, "You know, something _less_ public and dangerous?"

"You want me to kidnap a member?" Fletcher eyed him, "Thought not."

"So we have to go because the CD says so?"

"No, because it's necessary."

"And it really can't wait till morning?"

"No, it cannot," Pushing off the table, Fletcher shed his jacket and pulled his coat around him, "Leave your uniform. We're off-duty."

Sounded like the world's worst idea at the moment. "And if we get shot…?"

"I hope you know a few good prayers," Fletcher jerked his head toward the parking lot, "C'mon."

Few words were exchanged between them and their fellow officers on their way out, and after Fletcher's smooth insertion of 'will keep an eye out for anything suspicions', they were out the door and toward Tom's car that Fletcher had stolen.

"You know Tom would want to drive his car every once in a while, right?" Alex remarked dryly as he took the passenger's seat, Fletcher opting to drive, "And he really would like a clean plate that isn't associated with any drug deals gone bad."

"I'm sure."

The assassin reached over, as the engine purred to life, to switch on whatever music Tom had on last. Both gave a small snort at the echo of violins moving through the silence; Alex hadn't really known Tom as a classical music person.

Humming along with the fifth symphony in his off-pitch tunes, Alex eyed the driver, "I can feel the music flowing underneath my fingers."

"Really?"

"Yeah, pretty sure. I must be gifted," Alex cocked his head and angled a fictitious violin under his chin, sliding his left arm over his left one holding the bridge, "That was a brilliant middle C!"

"You must be hallucinating. Should we take a detour to the hospital?"

An exaggerated upward swipe of his imaginary bow had the assassin jerking to the side to avoid the invading limb of his passenger, "I'm perfectly sane. How long till the gang?"

"Preparing your battle cry already?" Fletcher flashed the light as they took the left turn, rounding the large intersection. The street lights around them flickered on, off, and on as they drove past them, "Majority of them gathers in the old warehouse. It used to belong to an old couple a year ago, but somehow it turned into lost properties when they died."

"You did your research."

"I read the police file."

"I see. Good job, I guess."

It was four blocks till the Eastland Intersection when they finally stopped. The streets were almost deserted minus the few couples walking hand in hand down the streets beneath the last ray of the suns. The cool evening air was the perfect temperature to spend time outside.

"An abandoned warehouse in the middle of polished apartments," Alex shut the car door as they got up, "Maybe it's one of those don't judge the book by its cover type of building."

"It looks shabbier on the inside," A single comment was enough to dash his hopes, "Let me do the talking. You just stay close."

"Can I stay in the car?"

"No. I need a shield if they start shooting."

"I hope you're not serious."

Soft pine needles crumbled and broke beneath their trampling feet as they eased their way into the dim interior of the warehouse. A single light-bulb was hung from the beams above and a fan was rotating so slow that Alex wasn't sure if electric was touching or if the wind had found its new toy. There were a few tables and made-shift chairs pushed up to either side of the seemingly endless warehouse. Empty tall black shelves strained toward the ceiling but most of them had already deteriorated, so much that it was as if keeping straight was the only priority they had in mind.

Fletcher's soft, but loud, greeting was returned with silence. Then rustling, and a hesitant shuffled soon followed. From the box on the first level of the nearest shelf, a head poked out, its sharp ears perking up as it took a sharp sniff.

"Oh…It's the wolf-dog," Alex filled in the silence, "Hey buddy, come—"

"Don't," Fletcher stopped him, his eyes flickering to the half-empty bowl before the box, "It's not alone."

He almost jumped when a second light, then a third, lit up the hollow warehouse. However, Fletcher's posture remained relaxed and stilled at the sudden addition of sight. A couple of figures moved out of the shadows, slowly pulling their hoods down and an annoyed expression on their face. The sharp weapon on one and the gun on the other's hip was the first Alex took note of.

"What the fuck do you want, man?" The first one stepped forward, pushing his ruffled fringe away from his narrowing eyes, "Get out, don't make us do it."

"We're police," Fletcher said, spreading his arms slightly to the small badge still pinned to his belt, "We need to ask you a few questions."

"What kind of questions can't wait till bloody tomorrow?" The second grumbled, rubbing his eyes, "We had an awful day, officer, and none of us are in a good mood."

"We will be quick," Alex stepped up.

Both of the members' eyes flickered to him, interest and curiosity lingered in the glint of their eyes as he continued, "Why did you go through Beck Crawford's house?"

"What the fuck do you mean?"

"He means," The second sighed, "What do you mean by went through?"

"Ransacked. Everything was ripped out and overturned," Alex watched them carefully, "We found a ripped piece of a handkerchief belong to one of you."

"What handkerchief?"

Fletcher tugged the plastic out of his inner pocket and flashed the red piece of cloth before them, their initials on the front in clear visibility, "This."

"Well," The second shrugged, "It wasn't us."

"How do you know?"

"We don't burglarize houses, despite, well, everything," The second continued, shrugging again, "Besides, that handkerchief can be bought from us. We sell that kind of things to stupid little kids who wander around the neighborhood with petty cash."

"Would you get the fuck out if we sell you one?" The first reached into his pocket and tossed Alex the merchandise. It was slightly ruffled but otherwise neatly folded and creased, "You know what, just take it as a goodbye gift and don't ever come back. We don't want no police."

"Do you know who you sold these handkerchiefs to?"

"Well, a kid here, a kid there, a wannabe here, fucking stupid police officers there, we don't keep records. Will you _please_ leave? I need my fucking sleep." The first then squinted as he shifted, his gaze moving past them, "Oh fuck this, you guys come in trios now?"

Alex and Fletcher both turned.

Then everything became a sudden blur of actions. The assassin grabbed him by the shoulder, swirled, and the sound of a gunshot rung out. His vision was tilted upward as the assassin's shoulder knocked his head back, he saw the slowly rotating fan in the split second, then he saw the wall. There was a thud. It must have been him, and then a searing pain shattered through his wrist.

Alex blinked. Something heavy was over his chest, and his every breath was strained. Hands found the source of his burning pain clouding his vision, and they pushed the weight off him. Vision blurred and dimmed before he squinted and focused on the gruff face of the first.

"Hey kid, you shot?"

Alex blinked. Shot?

"No. Well, you look like crap because you broke your fucking wrist, in case you're wondering. Also, your partner isn't looking so good."

The second move into his view, "Where's your phone?"

"Huh?"

"Your phone. To call an ambulance so your friend doesn't bleed out."

Bleed out? Alex blinked, sluggishly, and unclogged the cloud of pain hazing his sight. The first had grabbed Fletcher by the shoulder and turned the man until he was on his side so he wouldn't drown in his blood. Oh. God.

Fletcher.

"What…?" Alex was pulled to his feet by his good hand.

"Some crazy dude came in to kill you. Your cop buddy took it for you," The second informed him, grabbed the phone sticking out of Alex's pocket, and shoved it in his face, "Call an ambulance. We're leaving."

The second dragged the first away, along with the wolf-dog, and seconds later, silence settled over like an over-heated blanket. Alex supposed he was scared. Or panicking. Or both. The sound of someone's god-awful hysteria echoed in the loud chamber as he dropped to his knees, his wrist throbbing again as he one-handed dialed Wolf's number.

What was he supposed to do when he saw blood? Stop the bleeding. Stop the flow. Stench the blood. Stop the bleeding. Call the police. Well, they were the police. Alex set his dialing phone on the ground gingerly, and pulled his coat off—he spared a glance at his wrist; it was an awful sight.

"C'mon Fletcher," Alex rolled the man over until he was on his stomach and the bullet wound oozing slowly across the dirtied floor, "Do I have to perform CPR? I don't know how that work, man."

Alex reached over and tentatively pressed his ears against the assassin's back. Thump. He waited. Thump. It was slow, like a—Thump.

"Mayford?" Wolf's static voice shattered the carefully maintained rhythm as it blared through Alex's ears, "What is it?"

"How do you stop someone from bleeding out?" It came out in a rush, and Alex wasn't sure if it came out the way he intended or fell down the garbage chute somewhere down the line. Fletcher was still unmoving, his eyes closed, and looking rather pale despite the warm orange light above them, swinging, hanging, flickering to the rhythm of the slow-moving fan.

"Speak slower."

"How," Alex paused as he pushed his coat against the bullet wound, earning not even the faintest twitch from the dead-to-the-world assassin, and spoke louder. He was afraid Wolf wouldn't hear him, "How do you stop someone from bleeding out?"

It was met with gauging silence from the other end. Alex didn't know what to do as he sat back, pushing harder against the wound. The coat was thick, and Alex was glad for it—because if it were as thin as a rug, it would be squelching in blood any second now.

"Wolf!" It came out harsher than he had expected. Or perhaps he had expected it, "I need help. C'mon, gimme a reply." His one hand could, after all, only do so much, "C'mon, Fletcher. C'mon, still alive?"

"You need an ambulance," Wolf realized, and swore unprofessionally loud past the phone, "Where're you? Who got hurt?"

"Um, I'm at the gang warehouse, place, thing," Alex added the two ambiguous words, hoping at least one of them would make the mark of an accurate description, "I…Fletcher got shot. I think I sprained or broke, my wrist. I'm not sure. It hurts like hell if you want a symptom."

"Okay, just stay there. I've informed the station. ETA's five minutes out. Give me a description of the wound."

"Well, it's a gunshot wound. I don't know how to explain that."

"They shot a police officer?"

"We were off-duty. It wasn't the…um…" Alex blinked.

"Focus!" The phone barked at him, "Apply pressure, and push whatever cloth you have against it. A jacket, a shirt, something. Where's the wound located?"

"Uh…"

"Mayford!"

Alex shut his eyes, then opened them again. Once, twice, thrice, before it focused on the name, "His lower back, to the side. It's got no exit wound."

"Were you shot?"

"Wolf…there's a lot of blood."

"It's a gunshot wound. Were _you_ shot?"

"I broke my wrist."

"Were you _shot_?"

"No."

"Okay, hang tight. Keep the pressure on. Start talking."

Alex shifted to find a more comfortable spot, his injured wrist hanging limply in his lap and his whole body was leaning into the wound to keep his coat at bay. For a moment, he debated whether or not sitting on Fletcher would help more than his weak one-handed pressure would. He might have a concussion, now that he could finally glance past his wrist. He didn't know the man who came up behind them—the truth was, he hadn't even seen the man before Fletcher had pulled him aside. He blinked the flash out of his vision. Pulled. Pushed. Collided. Floor.

"Mayford?"

He heard the chilling reverberation of sirens outside and absently, he wondered if it would be the same two paramedics who had carted Officer Wilson out the police station, blood soaking the sheet and the makeshift bandages.

"Talk to me."

"I'm not a talk-show."

"Keep talking."

Crunch. The pine needles shifted and screamed in pain as the paramedics hurried footsteps shot through the silence in two pairs of out-of-sync rhythms. Alex leaned down again and pressed his ears against Fletcher's back.

Silence.

Thump.

"How long has he been like this?" They were the same paramedics after all, "Hey, are you alright?"

"Alright?" Somebody echoed. He was gently pulled aside.

"He's in shock. The wrist doesn't look good," The man said as he flashed his penlight into the confused brown orbs, "Dilated pupils. How's the other one doing?"

"Lost lots of blood. Put them both in the back. Radio ahead, we're gonna need lots of blood. Hey, do you know his blood type?"

That was probably to him, "Uh, he doesn't share."

"Okay," The man clipped his pen back into his pocket and bent down to help his partner in applying the C-collar around his neck and pulling Fletcher onto the board. The BVM loosely enclosed his face and a gloved hand rhythmically reproducing the beating of a normal heart.

Thump.

"Can you walk?"

"I broke my wrist, not my ankle."

"Okay buddy," The man chuckled, but still reached down to give him a hand to haul him up, "Follow us to the car, alright? We'll take a look at your wrist."

People said time would fly when one immersed themselves in what they did, however, Alex didn't think he was enjoying sitting in the back of the ambulance, cradling his wrist and assisting the paramedics as he slowly squeezed the bag. Release. Squeeze. Release. Squeeze.

Release. Re—no, squeeze. He blinked. Time was soaring, and so were they down the dusky roads.

"Hey, eyes open," Fingers snapped in front of him, "Two more minutes. You're doing great. What's your name?"

Alex didn't know what he answered, because next time he blinked, he was surrounded by white walls. The bench, however, was faded gray. The nurse behind the reception desk glanced at him in concern as he shifted, turning to glance at the room behind him. Then the nurse began tilting. Or maybe he was, but with all the white walls, he wasn't so sure. The nursed rushed over to right him back up and asked if he needed anything to drink.

He'd kill for Tom's crappy smoothie, now that he thought about it.

"Mayford?"

Wolf was flanked by two officers as they trudged toward him. At a nod, the two behind him diverged into the room. Room. Fletcher. Alex shut his eyes and brought his right arm up. He wasn't sure he bent the arm at all, but as soon as the thought of it went into action, pain flared up. He looked down. An ugly cast.

"You broke your wrist," Wolf sat down next to him, turning to regard his grimace, "What do you remember?"

"Wilson was shot."

"Yes. What 'bout your partner? Officer Lionel?"

"He was shot," Alex shut his eyes. The cold metal dug into his exposed neck. He wanted his coat.

Squelch. Blood. Maybe not, he didn't want his coat.

"He was," Wolf nodded, "How did he get shot? What were you two doing out there off-duty?"

"We were, um," It was kind of hard to remember, actually, "We were…"

"You were…?"

Right. Fletcher's annoying persistence had dragged him off his chair to investigate, "There was a woman. Beck Crawford. She's, uh, Benjamin Crawford's widow. Her house got ransacked."

"Let me guess, it was done by a member of the gang," Wolf snorted.

"So we went—"

"You were off-duty. Why couldn't it wait till when you can bloody see?"

Alex was going to ask Fletcher that same question again when he could stand on his feet and walk into the room. Right now, however, he was very much content to answer Wolf with the same lack-of-sense arguments Fletcher made.

"With a man killed in your own station, Fletcher thought the chance of you agreeing to this and providing back-up is slim."

"So you offered to go by yourselves?"

"No, that was Fletcher."

"But you agreed."

"Mhm."

Wolf decided to let him fall back against the chair after that, and he wasn't sure when but he fell asleep.

* * *

TBC


	16. Tough History

A.N.: Ahhh, I'm sorry for the late update. School's starting for me and everything's just a chaotic mess at the moment. Short chapter, my apologies. Will try to update faster, cross my finger and hope to die and all that fun stuff.

Just wanna say thank you so much guys for your reviews! I'm so sorry if I haven't gotten to reply to some of your reviews but I promise I will as soon as I get the time! Thank you so much for your support!

* * *

Alex blinked open his eyes and for a long awkward moment, he wasn't sure where he was. Then his gaze fell to the Commander's, standing behind his desk and his eyes narrowed at Alex's slouched posture in the seat.

"You dozed off," Wolf decided to end his confusion, "While I was talking."

"I dozed off."

"You did."

"...Oh."

Alex straightened in his seat again and tried to redirect his attention to the Commander. His broken wrist tugged at his neck, seeking attention that he couldn't spare. They were in Wolf's office, the blind half-drawn and a single chair, the one he was currently in, was placed before Wolf's desk. The Commander slowly eased himself into his chair with a long and weary sigh.

"How's Fletcher?"

Alex grimaced, "I, uh, I didn't go visit yet. I woke up to your phone call and I came right away."

Thought Wolf would appreciate him arriving on-time. It was Tom and James' field trip this week, and they were both probably hundreds of miles away from the house, laughing at whatever stupid slug while he was stuck here nursing a broken wrist and facing life-and-death decision.

Perhaps he wasn't cut out for this. Whatever _this_ was.

"I'm putting you on suspension," Wolf finally spoke after a long pregnant pause.

"Oh." Hadn't he always wanted this?

"You've violated so many rules that I've given up on counting. You're lucky that you aren't fired on the spot. Your partner, Officer Lionel, is new to this part of the world. He might've been a police officer somewhere else, but he might not be familiar with our rules. It was your job to make sure your partner stays in one piece and follows the rule."

He wisely stayed silent.

"With the Parkour Kid missing for almost three weeks, we're losing heat on the case. Especially with the money returned graciously in a crate. I first kept you on despite the violations because you were the only one with close contact. Now, I'm not so sure if that had been the right decision."

"Okay."

"Until further notice, you are suspended. I will assign other officers to take over your investigation, don't worry. Leave your badge on the table and your uniform and gun at the registry on your way out. Make sure you log them in, don't want another violation on your form."

Well.

"Like right now?"

"Any time you're ready. I expect you to be absent starting tomorrow."

"Okay," Alex stood up with a long sigh, "I didn't eat breakfast yet. I'm gonna grab a burger. Wanna come?"

Wolf flat out refused his kind offer in favor of typing away on his loud keyboard.

Well. Not that he wanted Wolf to come. He had other immediate plans to execute.

* * *

"Hey."

"Hey."

"You…" Alex sighed as he slumped into the chair beside Fletcher's bed, and ran a hand through his hair, "You look like crap."

"I can say the same for you," Propped up against the fluffed pillows, Fletcher arched an eyebrow, "How's your wrist?"

"I broke it."

"I can see."

"It's fine," The white cast was lifted awkwardly, "How's, um, how do you feel?"

What was he supposed to say to someone who pushed—Alex shut his eyes, he didn't really remember in the flurry of motions—him aside to take the bullet meant for him? How was him? Fletcher was probably feeling like, well, he was shot.

"Fine," A dip of his head, "It isn't serious. I'll live."

"You can't see, but I'm crying on the inside," Alex rolled his eyes, "So…this, you getting shot, doesn't change anything about the Game, does it? I don't have to, you know, get shot as well, right?"

"If it makes you feel any better," Reaching for the nightstand housing his old clothes and belongings, Fletcher remarked, "If you had gotten shot, I'd have died as well."

"That makes me feel a lot better."

"You're welcome."

Alex let three seconds trickled by before broaching his insensitive question, "Do you know who shot you?"

"No," Fletcher shook his head, "Perhaps a rival. Or simply an enemy of the gang mistaking our identity. On the other hand," The assassin extracted the CD disk from the tattered pocket, and chucked the short distance into Alex's lap, narrowly missing his cast. Alex gingerly grabbed it with his left hand, "What's on it?"

"I know what the objective is," Fletcher slid the drawer shut and leaned back, looking perhaps just a tad bit more like a wounded man and not an assassin dressed in a hospital gown, "It's a flash drive."

"Lemme guess. Top-secret information?"

Fletcher shot him a withering glance, "It contains a list of names. It isn't too surprising that he'd use this chance to get what he had lost back."

Alex's eyes flickered up, "Names?"

"Agents'," Pushing past Alex's readied interruption, Fletcher continued, "You once said it was suspicious that everything was happening here, and I told you they're here for a reason. This Game, the murders, the gang—everything's connected."

"Great."

"It's not."

"That's how I react to things I don't want to hear."

Fletcher sighed heavily, and absently Alex wondered if some other agents—Rothman, maybe, or that Grego…Greg… _Yassen_ he met at the diamond auction—were going to to waltz in and shoot Fletcher. Every move seemed rather painful to Alex, and he couldn't imagine what Fletcher was feeling.

It wasn't fun to get shot.

"The CD, it has more on the drive. The drive itself was last heard taken by Benjamin Crawford. Once you know what you need from the CD, start from him."

"Hang on, Benjamin Crawford? The dead guy?"

"Yes."

"He's, well, _dead_. How am I supposed to 'start' from him? And, he looked so normal, Fletcher. How did it land in his hand?" Alex turned the disk over.

"Julia Rothman lost it to a bag-snatcher. He picked it up when she was distracted as she was trying to shoot the thief."

"How did you know?"

"She used to be the head of Scorpia. That was her ticket to demotion," The assassin looked amused, his eyes flickering to the white ceiling, "Ask the people Crawford was in contact with. And pay a visit to his widow, even if she wasn't aware of her late husband's activities, she knows his habits, and probably his special places where he might've hidden it."

Alex frowned, the effect of the concussion still faintly throbbing at his temple, and it took moments longer to drag forgotten pieces together, "You said it could've been your colleague Greg that the man, whom Crawford saw at the pier, killed. And Benjamin's wife, Beck, said the same night there was a man who stayed with her to make sure she was safe…Hold on."

He took a moment to shut his eyes, "If _Scorpia_ was holding the wife hostage, whoever rescued her valiantly was definitely _not_ Scorpia. So we have Scorpia, Crawford, and some strange organization on the table..."

"Headaches?"

"Like lions are pounding my poor skull," Alex dryly remarked as he opened his eyes again, "Okay. Where was I? Um. _Right_. Days later, Benjamin Crawford turned up dead, along with another man. We now know the man belongs to the gang, and it's very very likely that Crawford's somehow connected to the gang—Oh. Would it be absurd if I say the man who looked after Beck, and the man who shot your colleague, are part of the gang as well?"

"Possible."

"But not likely?"

"...I didn't say that."

"Actions speak louder than words."

"I've yet to move since you started your tirade."

"Fine," He decided to grant Fletcher the sick card, his eyes sliding shut again before Fletcher could send his way another withering glance, "Okay. If you'd let me entertain that idea, then the gang is now in the equation. Scorpia takes the wife hostage, the gang takes out one of Scorpia's agent and solves the situation. What does the gang gain from this? You think they know about the disk?"

"Excuse me sir," The nurse poked her head in, nearly sending Alex leaping from his seat, "The visiting hour's almost over. It will be open tomorrow at ten thirty AM."

He nodded, and she left, moving down to the next room.

"Were you admitted?" Fletcher asked.

"No, why?"

"You came to visit past 8 PM. What did you do the rest of the day?"

"You thought I was so clingy that the hospital would the my first destination in the morning?" Alex grinned, "How utterly sweet! Well, no, I wasn't sleeping in. I dealt with Wolf."

"About?"

"You want the good news, or the bad news?"

The assassin shut his eyes briefly, "None of those sound appetizing."

"They're not meant to be eaten," Easing himself slowly out of the chair with one hand, Alex sighed, "Wolf had me suspended until further notice."

"Why?" Despite the question, the assassin look utterly unfazed by his statement.

"Said it was my last warning of misconduct, and it was inevitable. He said I shouldn't have agreed to my partner's suggestion, seeing that you're relatively new to this part of the world and I was almost a veteran to everything disastrous. Something 'bout I should've know better."

"So," An arched eyebrow, "What's the bad news?"

"That's not bad enough?"

"It's an opportunity. You're not bound by the rules anymore."

" _But_ ," His feet had fallen asleep, and each step to the door was a slow comical limp as he tried to make Fletcher see his point, "He's gonna have someone else on the case, someone who's _actually_ a detective. I can't investigate if I'm going to run into some idiotic police along the way."

"I believe you can find a way to outrun them."

Alex just stared, "I'm sure that were words of reassurance, but is it just me, or do I detect 'or else' tagged to the end?"

"Your ears deceived you."

Those were the parting words he heard before he left the room with a roll of his eyes, his mind already turning and churning out possible destinations. Now, where should he go to begin his search for a stolen drive that even Scorpia didn't know its whereabouts? Beck Crawford. Then possibly…Claire. Claire was a born-and-raise street kid so she would know the gossips around just by walking through the alleys. Greg-something-Yassen told him it wouldn't end well if he and Claire were to see each other again but Alex had something else in mind: namely, a phone call.

His issued car had been revoked, so instead, he took Tom's car and drove to the Crawford household. It already pretty late, and under the orange light glowing above the car illuminating the surrounding, Alex pulled to a stop outside the house. It was lit on the interior but the grey curtain shaded away the majority of the light. However, the window on the side of the house was open, and the thin twin curtains were pushed to the side. The light spilled into the side yard like a pathway, above which small flickering insects flew like fireflies.

At least she was awake. Beck's silhouette moved behind the window as Alex crossed the front yard and knocked on the door twice, "Mrs. Crawford?"

When the door was pulled open, Alex realized with a start that, despite everything, the house was still in a disarray. The broken pieces near the door had been swept away, but the white fluff and the broken shelves laid on the ground lethargically, "Officer…Mayford? Is, is everything alright? Did something happen?"

"Yeah, no, no, everything's alright," Alex hurriedly reassured her, watching her tired face darkened by the light behind her, "I just had a thought. Is this a good time?"

Ah. Stupid question.

"...It's fine," Beck pulled the door open a little wider, "Do you wanna come inside?"

"It's just a quick question," He refused her offer politely and pulled out his phone, scrolling through the gallery to land on the early photo he had taken of the crime, "Do you know this man?"

Beck took his phone gently and peered at the lit screen with squinted eyes as if having just woken up from a deep slumber, "Um…I'm not sure I have? Should I?"

"No, not necessarily. His name's Cross Morrison. He was found near your husband's…body. I was wondering could he have been the man who came to your house the night your husband was out?"

That was enough for her to give it a second look. Beck had described her assailant-turned-protector as completely masked, young, tall, and having dark hair. Cross did match the description, and the gang relation further strengthened his hypothesis. A hand reached up to brush the strand of loose hair behind her ear and out of her sight.

"I…I'm not sure," Beck bit her lips, "It could be him. He's got the eyes…But I, I'm not sure. I'm sorry. It was late, and a little dark, and he wasn't really in the light."

"It's alright," Alex took his phone back with an dismissive smile, "Thank you for your help! I'm sorry for the intrusion."

"No, not at all," When she smiled, her lonely eyes glistered under the orange porch light, "I'm glad to help. Ben…Ben was my everything."

"His killer will be brought to justice." That sounded like something out of a comic book.

"Thank you."

Alex bid her goodnight and watched her door closed softly on his way past the garden. It was growing wild, creating the illusion of an uneven terrain, though signs of past neat trimming was evident on a closer look.

As he sat on the driver's seat and glancing out the window, Beck turned her lights off. A moments ago where the light of a pathway illuminated out her window was now engulfed by pitch black darkness.

It was nine twenty-two. At night. He called Claire anyway after a short mental debate.

She picked up in two rings, "Hello?"

"It's Harry. Harry Mayford," He told her, recognition evident in her short delighted inhale, "Can we talk?"

"Is this a phone-date?"

Alex grinned, "It's more like a pre-date phone call. Is now a good time?"

"Well," Claire humphed, "I was just about to turn in actually. Had a very busy day trying to decipher the new clues that my Mentor found. Speaking of him, he's currently out on some errand run. You should drop by?"

"Nope. He said you're gonna kill me if I show my face again."

Claire sighed, "He told me that too. So, what's up?"

"I was wondering if you know anything about Benjamin Crawford's murder?"

There was a pause as she took in the information and threw it in her pool to fish up anything that she might recognize, "Hmm, Benjamin Crawford. Normal-looking bloke, early-mid forties? A little dead at the moment? Got a wife Beck Crawford?"

"Yeah, how did you know?"

"Kid, I know things, alright?"

"Stop calling me a kid."

"Yeah, whatever," She blew it off dismissively, "What you want to know? Any chance of you returning a favor?"

Grinning wryly, Alex leaned back in his car seat, "Sure. Just give me anything you have on the man's murder and you got yourself a favor."

"Thank you for calling the gossip hotline," Claire shuffled roughly the paper on her desk as she began, "From what I heard, there was some kinda gang conflict that killed the man. From that local gang Esonob, they said it was something, I quote, 'unexpected'. They lost one of their own, some guy named Cross, along with your Crawford bloke."

"So Cross is with the gang?"

"Mhm, from what I heard anyway. Said this Cross bloke looked after the wife but got shot for his trouble. You know something 'bout this?"

"Probably."

That was the link to the Crawford and the gang. But what linked the gang with Scorpia? Sure, they robbed places, they attack strangers, and they cause mild chaos, but what did a petty street gang have to do with an international group of assassins?

Claire's soft exclaim of surprise reached him, "I'm sorry but I gotta end the call. My Mentor's paranoid, he's gonna track this call if it goes on for too long."

"It's been barely over a minute."

"I know. Call me tomorrow, if you need."

"Thanks, I owe you one."

* * *

Yassen, upon entering, found his boss by the railing of the balcony connected to the hotel suite. A glass of red wine accompanied the elder of the two as he turned to face Yassen. Perhaps it was the suit, or the sleek hairstyle, or the diamond ring on his thumb, that instantly irked Yassen. Nor was it as if Yassen had genuinely liked anyone. Beside his closed friends. Friend.

"Fletcher is still alive. And so is the boy," was the head of Scorpia's preamble.

"I aimed to kill. The boy got in the way."

It was an entirely rhetorical explanation and the head of Scorpia didn't buy it for a second, "What stopped you from taking the second shot?"

"There were civilians," He remarked. If it came out a fraction drier than he had intended, Yassen could care less. The head of Scorpia knew where the line was, and he was treading on the border.

"I see," A long pause, "You said the boy got in the way? He wasn't wounded. A broken wrist, I heard, but no bullet wound."

"Fletcher pulled the boy in as a shield. I readjusted my shot to accommodate his last second change."

The head of Scorpia humphed. Neither men seemed willing to break other's skepticism or answer the unspoken question, and they let it drift away like the dim waft of smoke from the balcony two doors down. Yassen's eyes twitched at the intrusion.

"I hope you won't fail me a second time, Mr. Gregorovich. Or it would be your life at stake."

Empty threats. The whole lots of them.

" _Bouna Fortuna_."

"Of course," A pale smile graced his brisk turn. Then the man at the balcony was left alone to his thoughts and schemes.

To Yassen, Fletcher was an...acquaintance. And that was saying something; for Yassen could count his acquaintances with the fingers of his left hand. While they had undoubtedly ended their brief friendship on the wrong foot—as he had done so with anyone he had met but most never lived to tell the tale—Fletcher was still his acquaintance. And Yassen had no trouble sleeping at night at his acquaintance's death.

The hospital was lit brightly when he pulled to a stop into the parking lot. Lights leaked from the closed windows and the open front entrance, basking the late night visitors in an eerie white green glow as they neared with their bundles of troubles heavy on their mind.

Perhaps it was dignified to say that, like thieves, assassins had their own unspoken code of honour. Civilians were civilians, and they made excellent unnecessary casualties as well as unaware shields. Grab an innocent, and most officers would stop their advance and everything turned into a hostage negotiation. But Yassen weren't most officers. He wouldn't hesitate. He would shoot—because he knew when his bullet hit, it would be too late for them to empty their magazines into the hostage.

He just hadn't expect to miss the shot in the flurry of motion when Fletcher pulled John Rider's son forward, daring Yassen's bullet to speak true to its path.

His fellow assassin glanced up from the hospital bed when Yassen slid in through the window and dropped onto the ground. The door was slightly-ajar but he had no trouble blending in if situations demanded.

"I was wondering when you'd come," Fletcher greeted as he took a sip of the water through the straw, "Four years we know each other, you're still predictable as always when it comes to the boy."

"He doesn't belong in our world."

"He's as deep in this as we were back in Malagosto," The wounded assassin set the glass down and carefully glanced at his hand, his index finger clipped to the machine by a wire, "He just doesn't know it."

"You used him as a shield."

"Against you. Besides, he's alive and well. His wrist will heal in due time. I had to warn you, just in case the boss sent you to assassinate me. A precaution, if you will."

And Fletcher knew that no matter how itchy his trigger finger was, the gun would stay locked and loaded but never fired until the boy was out of range. John Rider's betrayal was still smarting, and Yassen couldn't understand his unwillingness to let any one of them come to harm. Life was too fleeting. And John Rider was only doing what he was asked to do. Like him. But yet he felt the tightening at the thought of killing his former Mentor, or his child.

"Now, visiting hour was over two hours ago. You better go before the nurse catches you. Thanks for the visit," Fletcher reached over to fluff the pillows behind his back, "No worries. Alex will be perfectly safe under my watch. When I get what I need, he will be safely returned to whom he might belong to."

"And what is it that you need?" Yassen knew but he asked anyway. And Fletcher knew he knew, if the smirk quirking at the lips of the wounded assassin was hinting at anything.

"Goodnight, Yassen," Without a care to the world, Fletcher shifted until he was lying down, his eyes to the ceiling and the smile slowly easing.

Yassen shut his eyes for a brief second, "Good night, Fletch."


	17. Before the Hospital

A.N.: Ha! Can you guys believe that I actually dragged my lazy self off my couch and wrote this extremely short chapter? I, for one, am certainly disappointed. I'm really sorry for the shortness and the long delay, still trying to get my life together even though it's literally been two months since school started.

A lot of you have asked for me to continue my other two AR stories that I (oops) just suddenly stopped writing for. Yes! I'm glad to say that I'm working on those again, so be on the lookout for new chapters. (You can also reread them while you wait - like I did because I think I completely forgot where I was going with them).

Thank you so much for those that still followed and liked and reviewed my story (especially if you sent a PM to me directly)!

Oookayy, I'm getting this fanfic back on track now! Hopefully, the next chapter will be longer!

 **also quick P.S., I changed my username from _Kawazoe Kumiko_ to _Kadrian_. Terribly sorry if it messed things up for you guys, hehh. I've always been wanting to change it for a while now, just wasn't sure when. **

* * *

"Alex." He jumped as he heard his name abruptly flew out of the ear piece.

"Fletcher?"

"No, I'm the nurse—Of course it's me. What's wrong?"

"Oh no, I was just…" Alex frowned as his foot caught the pedal and kick-started the two-wheeled vehicle beneath his body. It shuddered and rocked to life in split seconds, and Tom made the presumptuous vroom noise to accompany the motorcycle solo that shattered the morning peace of the calm neighborhood. "I was actually gonna go scour around, see if I can link the gang to Scorpia."

"Oh?" A loud disturbing slurp interrupted the flow of their conversation. "Don't go near the gangs."

His frown deepened but covered from the rest of the world as he slid the black visor of the helmet over his face. "Why not? Well, I'm not planning to walk in and say hi, if that's what you're thinking. I'm just gonna fidget around, see if I can find anything at all. Maybe like an anti-Scorpia sign or something, who knows?"

"Just don't go near them."

The seriousness in Fletcher's tone had him hesitating. It was probably not wise to go against a strategic comment from a trained assassin when he was nothing more than a teen. He probably should still be in school.

"Fine. Alright. Roger that."

The earpiece stayed quiet afterward, and Alex took it as a sign to continue whatever he was doing before. The motorcycle rolled out into the street, its new paint job and change of plate would make it hard for anyone to point fingers and identify its origin. He might not be a master planner, or a trained assassin, _or a legal adult,_ but he had some tricks up his sleeves. Growing up with a father who spent more time abroad than at home he had certainly learned his fair share of tricks.

In the end, he didn't go near the abandoned storage where Fletcher was shot, but instead, he decided to help Beck clean up her home. Her _house_. She looked like she'd aged years since the last night when she pulled open the door.

"I…" She started. "Officer Mayford…"

"It's just Harry, please," said Alex. "I, um, I got fired."

Wow. Great way to start the conversation.

Beck hugged herself tightly, her eyes expressing confusion and lingering pain. "I, I'm sorry. Was it my fault? Do I have to pay a fine? I…I don't have much."

His head shake was immediate. "No, I'm here to help you out. To help you clean up. I should've offered a lot earlier."

Her hands were trembling, and her bare feet were getting cold. His eyes flickered into the room in a silent request, and she stepped aside to let him in. "You don't need to, Officer…Harry. I'm, I'm planning to move soon. I think I'd have someone tear the house down. Too many memories. It's just…I, I can't."

Suddenly, the guilt hit him and the grimace that flashed over his face barely escaped her downcast gaze. Here he was, deceiving her to find the USB because Fletcher told him it was damn important. He had considered only how he could get away with it and not the feelings of the woman who'd lost everything if she were to find out.

It wasn't even a moral dilemma. He was losing his touch on humanity.

"Well, we should clean it up anyway, so if Crawford…Ben comes to visit, he's at least got a place to rest his feet."

"I, I don't believe in ghosts." A small wry smile tugged her lips up for the first time in a long time. "But Ben would want that."

"Yeah." _Ben_ would want that. He could barely pull back the pity from flashing over his face. Living for someone else was such a foreign concept to him. He couldn't imagine how: what was the point of living if it weren't for yourself? "Let's start in the living room. Do you have any boxes?"

"Ah, yeah. In the back. I, I'll get them."

"Okay."

She turned and left through the back door leading into the balcony. Under the rising morning sun, he could see her figure moving behind the wall in brief searches. Making sure that it would take her a few solid minutes, Alex quickly began to delve into the first drawer on his right.

Guilt be damned. She was in danger every second longer the USB stayed hidden. If Fletcher was right about the mission this time, more Scorpia agents would be coming this way. They'd killed an innocent, they wouldn't hesitate to kill his widow.

* * *

Wolf wasn't one to forget things, especially not words from superior acting officers, and especially not phone calls from one deputy of MI6. But he did, unfortunately.

In the rush and chaos of the murdered prisoner and the attack on one of his own, he hadn't paid Mrs. Jones' parting words much attention, and it wasn't until the officer burst quickly into his office in rapid steps to announce his urgent findings did he remember Mrs. Jones' advice.

 _"In the meantime, keep the officer alive."_

"Sir," the man snapped to attention before relaxing his stance after a quick nod. "The analytic team finally separated the voices from the audio recorded from the security cam. You might want to take a listen."

A small player was passed over the desk to him. He hit play.

" _Great timing, mate_ _._ _Clear the east street traffic for me, will ya?_ "

Vaguely familiar amid the burst of disturbing static.

" _Motorcycle_ _._ _Faster and more efficient._ "

"Isn't that…" Wolf faltered, eyes meeting the officer's. "Officer, what's this?"

"Sir?"

"This is Officer Mayford's voice."

"Yessir, it is."

What an idiot. Wolf sighed, running a hand through his hair. "This isn't the Parkour Kid, officer. Mayford was one of the officers on scene that day. You must've captured his voice."

"That's impossible, sir." The man stood his ground. "This was captured near the trapdoor that the thief went through on the roof. If Mayford was stationed there, he would've met the kid straight head on—which if he did, he didn't report in. Also, he mentioned motorcycle, that was the getaway vehicle the kid thief used. Respectfully, sir, you might not believe me, but I think it's good if we ask Mayford a few questions."

Seeing that he had fired Mayford only yesterday, it might be a bit difficult to ask the man directly.

"You do know what you're accusing your former police officer of."

"Yessir."

"And you trust your technology enough to accuse Mayford?"

"If it's not him, a simple talk will clear it all up, sir."

Not a bad idea. Wolf leaned back in his seat and picked up the player. Twirling it in his fingers, he nodded. "Alright, arrange a meeting room. I don't want him getting jumpy, just in case."

"Yessir."

The door opened and closed behind the departure. Wolf wearily set the player down and grabbed the phone on the table. The black cords dangled in the air as his hands hesitantly hovered above the dialing pad.

Mayford was the Parkour Kid? Pfff. Unbelievable.

Even though the ex-officer could sometimes pass off as a teenager, he was far from one. He had been all too calm at mature situations, and if anything, his ability to adapt to sudden changes proved him quite the opposite of a strategical kid robber.

A call and a meet-and-greet would clear it right up. His call, however, met the recorded voice.

"Hi, this is Mayford. If I met you when I was drunk, don't leave a message. Thanks."

"Mayford, this is Wolf. We need to talk. Call me."

He placed the phone back in its cradle and stared at it for a long moment. When nothing seemed to connect, he dropped his head in his hands and exhaled sharply. He thought they'd solved the Parkour Kid problem after the money was returned and the mild-menace seemed to have disappeared.

 _"In the meantime, keep the officer alive."_

Wolf's eyes snapped open as Mrs. Jones words floated across his mind. Mayford was something else entirely. He received the attention from the deputy of MI6, at such a young age with promising potential. But what did the deputy had in mind for the man? Turn him into a spy?

He picked up the phone again and dialed Eagle. His unit mate picked up on the third ring. "This is Edward."

"Eagle, this is Wolf. I need you to track down Mayford."

"Oh, the blond dude from the other day? What, he ran away from papa Wolf?"

"I was forced to let him go, but there's some rather incriminating evidence against him about an investigation."

"Oh?" Wolf could almost imagine Eagle's eyebrow wiggling for gossip.

"Listen, get him to the station. _Then_ we can talk." He paused. "Is Fox with you?"

A loud rustle, a fumble, and a string of curse followed a moment of silence. "Yeah, he just came back from shopping. _Hey Foxy-boy, Wolf's asking for you!_ "

In the background, Fox yelled something incoherent back. Eagle returned to the phone. "He said what's up, but not _that_ nice."

"I want him to look into Mayford. Remember I told you that he was somehow affiliated with 6? I want to know everything about him."

"Stalker much?"

"Just get it done."

Eagle huffed. "Okay okay, your message has been relayed to Fox. Thank you for using the Eagle Search. Imma scour the street for your boy now, call you when I get something. Do you have an address I can start with?" Wolf pulled out the card from his drawer, and read it to Eagle who gave a grunt in confirmation as he wrote it down on his own piece of paper. "Got it. Oh, here's Fox."

Fox's calmer voice came through in greeting after moments of static and transition. He was quick to ask for more detail on what Wolf was asking him but when he promptly declined to do the job, Wolf frowned and drew back in surprise.

"What do you mean you won't?"

"This is 6's business, Wolf. I can't let you meddle."

Meddle? Mrs. Jones might have just well dumped 6's business on his doorstep when she came like a whirlwind into his office to talk to Mayford. "Do you know Mayford?"

"...I know _of_ him."

Damn spies and their secrecy. "Anything you care to share?"

"You said you fired him?" There it was, the change of topic that Fox blatantly never tried to disguise. "When?"

"We're not done with—"

"When?"

Wolf growled. "Yesterday. Why? Is it important? Don't try to change the subject, Fox."

However much he despised Fox trying to challenge his authority and his train of thoughts, Wolf quieted. Fox sounded serious, and a completely-serious Fox was typically never good news.

"Mayford is very important to us." Fox reluctantly parted with the sliver of information. "I hope Eagle finds him in time."

Important. Just who in the bloody world was Mayford?

"I gotta go. I'll keep an eye out for him as well. Wolf, whatever you do, make sure Mayford stays _alive_. If he doesn't." He could almost hear Fox's shudder and a muted shake of his head. "It won't be good."

"It won't be good? What won't be good?"

"Let's just say, Mayford has a lot of influences that even _he_ doesn't know about."

Fox hung up without a proper goodbye, rushing to do whatever else he had in mind post his shopping trip. He left Wolf alone to his troubled revelations. Wolf reached for the dial again and tried Mayford's number again. He hadn't expected a response.

"This is Mayford."

"It's Wolf. Do you think you can drop by the station today?"

" _Uhhhh_." The sound of vehicles zooming by in the background shattered the pregnant pause. Didn't the officer mention motorcycles? "'Fraid I can't, Wolf. You fired me, remember?"

"Civilians are still allowed to be in the station. Drop by, don't make me ask again."

"I'm on a trip."

"On a motorcycle?" Wolf blurted out dryly.

"How do you know? Don't answer that. You got a problem with motorcycles?" Mayford didn't appear too flustered, if at all, at the sudden observation from Wolf on the other end of the phone. "I probably shouldn't be answering your call right now— _hey watch where you going, dude! That's my spot!_ —Sorry Wolf, can't drop by. But call me if you need any information from the case."

"Wait." Well. What's one more lie? "It's about a case."

He heard a snort from the other end in skepticism. "Yeah, right. Alright, alright, you know what? _Fine_. I will drop by after I see Fletcher. Hey, do you think you can meet me there instead?"

"Why?"

"Well, I have places to be after this. It's too far."

Wolf had no qualm against the location, but hearing the excuses in Mayford's voice had him warily anxious. The hospital was only a few blocks away from the police station, driving on a vehicle would cover the difference in distance in matters of minutes.

"Alright. 1400, sounds good?"

"Yeah sure— _hey let me through!_ " The call abruptly ended after the yelled statement.

Wolf threw it back in the cradle and leaned back in his seat. It was an hour till two in the afternoon. He should get going, maybe get there before Mayford could so he could have a few words with Officer Lionel.

He hadn't spent many resources on finding out the man who shot Officer Lionel, being too caught up in the attack right in his own precinct. Officer Wilson was going to make a full recovery, but they would have to wait to see how his mental state would be. After he woke up, that was. It's been a long damn week.

Scorpia. Somehow the dead suspect and his murdered wife and son were caught up with an international group of assassins. Mrs. Jones had been reluctant to part with the name Julia Rothman after they captured the man trying to smash open the glass in the zoo, but the name alone had gotten them nowhere. She was a wealthy businesswoman and that fact alone warranted absolutely nothing.

Why was the man killed? What was Mayford's part in all this?

His thoughts, however, were dispersed in a sudden as his office door was wildly barged open. "Sir! There's a shooting reported in the hospital. Multiple shooters and our phones are overwhelmed by calls. There's already a few wounded and…dead."

"Which hospital?"

"Liverpool General, sir."

Could be a coincidence, Wolf thought as he stood warily. Mayford had just mentioned the hospital, and now it was suddenly under attack. Was this a hoax? He dismissed it. Doubt was the worth thing that could plague this mind at the moment: Liverpool General was where Officer Wilson and Officer Lionel were in. And both, now that he thought about it, could be critical eye-witnesses. There were more than enough reasons for this attack.

That aside, there were many more civilians in that building and most of them would be more defenseless than usual. Wolf slid his gun into his holster and rounded the table, already blasting orders into the flurry of activities.

"Spare whatever officers we can!" he barked. "I want all available personnel to aid the uniforms on-scene!"

Affirmation echoed in the room as Wolf sped out the door and into his car. For a brief absent moment, he hoped Mayford wouldn't be caught up in all this. They, after all, still had a conversation due.

The ex-officer picked up his phone on the second ring. "Wolf?" He was yelling, and there were noises behind him that reminded him eerily of a battlefield. "A little busy at the moment!"

"Where are you?" Wolf asked, ignoring the fact that he was calling while driving. Reaching for the button, he turned on the sirens as soon as he pulled out of the parking lot. "Don't go to the hospital. I repeat, don't go to the hospital!"

"Why not?" If Wolf had taken a second to pause, he would have heard the sarcasm in Mayford's voice.

"There's a shooting. I know you might be concerned about Fletcher, but I don't want any more unnecessary civilians there."

" _Wellllllll_ ," Mayford drew out the syllable dryly. Suddenly, the sound of a gunshot echoed in the background, and a curse immediately followed. "Too late, Wolf. I am here. Have been so for the past half an hour. Well, except for the last five minutes because I went out to get a burger."

"What the bloody hell are you still doing there? Get out!"

"I," a grunt. "Just barricaded myself and a few patients and doctors in Fletcher's room. 'Fraid I can't just leave. But there are half a dozen shooters here, and I think Fletcher might be the reason why they're coming."

"What?"

"Yeah, I, um, I shot a dude. He tried to shoot Fletcher. I had to relocate us because I think they knew what room Fletcher was in. I took Fletcher's gun—hope you don't mind but I'm running the second we're out of here if you're gonna throw me in jail for possessing a firearm." His voice was light, and he even managed a quiet laugh.

Wolf hadn't know Mayford for long, but the subtle tremor in his voice was a dead giveaway. Mayford didn't like guns, that much was as clear as the green light in front of him. He stepped on the gas and zoomed forward past the cars with siren blaring. The last time he had seen Mayford shoot a gun was…back in the gun range when he had experienced a vivid hallucination. Signs of PTSD that Wolf had slowly forgotten.

That was right. He hadn't seen Mayford shoot his gun, or even aim one, after that, except for the gunshot he heard back in the zoo when Mayford had clearly shot the gun clean out of the suspect's hand. The ex-officer looked like he was on the verge of a panic attack after that.

Mayford and guns just didn't mix. How the hell did he even past the entrance exam?

"Alright, listen to me," Wolf spoke calmly, trying to evoke the similar emotion from Mayford. "Stay down, don't try to be a hero today. Just point your gun at the door, but I bet you won't need it. You said you relocated?"

"Yeah."

"Good. Stay in the room, barricade the windows if you haven't already. You might not be an officer now, but you were one. Your priority is the civilians, understand?"

"Yessir."

"Okay, I'll call you back. Don't turn off your phone."

"Sure. Call me when it's over."

Wolf snorted. "Will do."

He didn't know then, but that was the last time that he heard Mayford's voice in what would be a long time.

* * *

TBC

* * *

I think this is officially what I liked to call the start of the climax, so we're almost halfway there through the story already!


	18. Gone With the Shots

A.N.: So, in the end, I decided that forcing 5000 words into each chapter simply isn't going to happen if I want to actually not procrastinate So I've decided for quick 3000 words chapters now, and _hopefully_ update once or twice a week. Ahaa I have so many plans for this story now, but I will definitely work on the other story at the same time.

aaanyway, onward!

* * *

Alex tilted the safety back on and stood back from the door to survey their swift barricades. The stacked obstacles, consisted of the metal trolley, the crash cart from the cabinet, and a few saline stands, would hopefully hold against most of the vicious manual attack but if the shooters decided to utilize a gunpowder-based approach, it wouldn't stand for long.

"We need to get these people out of here," He whispered to Fletcher, who was stood leaning against the wall. His wound was still slowing his movements, but he had healed surprisingly nicely. Nice enough to enable him to move quickly and stealthily with only a hand clamped to his side. "They're after you, right? Those shooters outside?"

"Yes, they're definitely from Scorpia. I recognized the man you killed," said Fletcher gravely, eyeing the gun Alex still held slackly in his grip as if not trusting him with the weapon before his eyes flickering back up seriously. "There's no way to leave this room without being spotted. Besides, it'd take a long time to take down the barricades. We'd be virtually defenseless."

"Why the hell does it have to be today, and not like, a week later?"

"I'm surprised that they didn't come after you, actually. Two birds with one stone, if they were to kill you first."

"Thanks."

"No sweat."

Alex did a quick headcount of the small refuge. Two doctors, and a civilian and his young daughter who looked like she couldn't decide between puking and cowering in fear. She was looking unwell. Her father noticed the concern in his glance.

"She's running a fever," he explained quietly as he comforted the girl. "We were just here to get a quick check-up."

"Here, lemme take a look." One of the doctors moved closer and offered softly. The father nodded and gently sat her down on the floor with a hand running soft circles on her back.

Alex turned back to Fletcher and listened for any commotion outside the door. He was caught by surprise as twin shots reverberated in the air. Close, they were getting close. The occupants all jumped, except Fletcher and Alex. The girl shoved herself in her father's arms, and trembled.

"What 'bout the window?" Alex asked, throwing a glance. The shades were thrown down over the glass, and the metal shield was pulled over it in a secondary layer of defense. "If we throw a rope down—"

"Too risky," said Fletcher as he shook his head. "We're about as safe as possible in this room until the police arrive. There's thankfully a huge number of rooms in the hospital, your relocation bought us a lot of time."

Alex nodded. "I counted half a dozen shooters. Do you think they'll end up killing each other? This is still part of the Game, isn't it?"

"There's that possibility…"

"But…?"

"There's a chance they were sent here specifically by the Boss. I might have, _uhh_ , angered him. I can't rule that out."

Alex snorted. "Angered him? What, did you steal his wife Josephine? Robbed him of his throne? Stabbed his son?"

"Might've gone against his back."

" _Oof_." Backstabbers generally wouldn't end up well. Or _alive_ , in many cases. Fletcher grimaced at his sympathy and muttered some words of consensus. The assassin then held his hand out for the gun insistently, hand on the barrel of it and tugged softly to get his attention.

Alex humphed, and handed the gun over to Fletcher's awaiting hands. The man had better aims anyway, he told himself. Sometimes he just wished that he could be a tougher person. His guardians' constant absences should've toughened him up to be someone that he was not today. Yet every single damn time he held a gun in his hand and let seconds stayed longer than appropriate, the boy's face would flash before his face again.

That wasn't what Ian wanted. Ian wanted him to be stronger, despite his father's constant shadow and unwillingness to let anything bad happen to him. His father wasn't the one to place the first gun in his hand—that was Ian.

And he liked it. He liked the way it fit in his hands, he liked the way the handle curled comfortably in his palm—he liked the power flowing through him.

It sickened him.

"If you're gonna hurl, best not in my face."

Alex bit back a retort, and straightened, smothering the instincts. One of the doctors walked up carefully to him, "You alright, kid? The first time taking a life, it's hard. I know. Take deep breaths, alright?"

"I'm not a kid." Well, she hadn't seen the natural way he held the gun. Alex shook his head. "I'm okay."

Suddenly, Fletcher harshly silenced them with an outstretched hand. The civilians quieted in fear. Alex edged closer to the assassin to listen to the footsteps outside. Two pairs. Two separate gaits. Three gunshots. The little girl clutched closer to her father, and Fletcher and Alex shared a glance.

Then they all jumped when someone knocked on the door.

Fletcher slowly pulled back the safety on the gun and gestured for the other occupants to move behind the barricade made out of the bed and a few spare metal slates. They quickly moved with no arguments and _thank god_ no noise.

Just as the two began to slowly inch around for a better advantage point, a voice attached itself to the knocks. "Hey Harry, it's me. It's okay, you can come out now."

Alex frowned and stood from his crouched position. "…Cl—?" Before the first vowel made its way out of his mouth, Fletcher clamped a hand over it. His eyes glared accusingly at him and shook his head mutely.

 _They couldn't trust her._

"Well, my mentor's with me as well. I know you're in there, it's okay. We won't hurt you. We took care of the others already."

Fletcher's stance slowly relaxed at the word 'mentor', but his posture was still stiff when he reached for Alex and gestured for him to move away the tables and chairs stacking against the door. Okay. Open the door. Slowly"

The doctor lent him a hand in clearing the obstacles, although Alex urgently backed them away once the pathway was clear. The door swung open with ease after he unlocked it, revealing Claire, and the pale man he saw first time at the Diamond Auction. Their eyes met, and a clear displeased frown flickered over his face.

"I'm Yassen Gregorovich." The man offered when the silence dragged on half a second too long.

Right. Gregorovich. That's the last name. What a mouthful.

"I know."

Fletcher appeared by his shoulder, a hand on it, and asked, "You said you took care of them. Are we clear to go?"

"This won't be the last time." The statement from the pale man was directed at Fletcher. "He _will_ send more men."

The assassin behind Alex snorted, "Don't I know that. That's why I have you, брат. How far out is the police?"

"We got here minutes before we heard the siren. They're probably setting up the perimeters now." Claire supplied from her load of information. "We need to go. _Now_."

Alex frowned. Go where? Fletcher and he would be safer with the police, even if the assassin and the street girl wouldn't. He voiced his thoughts in confusion.

"Yeah yeah, whatever." Claire ignored his statement without much of a thought and grabbed his arm rudely, forcing Fletcher to follow right behind. "C'mon, let's go. We counted a dozen agents and their Recruits, but we killed—well, more Yassen then me anyway—only seven. There's bound to be more."

"I thought there were only six," Alex remarked quietly, as he tried to reassure the civilians in the room that they would be right back. The doctors tried to protest, but Yassen solved the situation with a quick raise of his gun.

Well, what a man.

"You didn't hear about the bounty on your Mentor there." At Alex's even further confused expressions, Claire rolled his eyes. "You didn't know? Your Mentor stole something that didn't belong to him, and now Scorpia's after him. Not sure how this plays into the Game, but I'm listening to Yassen's directions—and he's saying to drag your sorry ass along and make sure you two don't die."

"Why are you helping us?"

"Oh trust me," Fletcher was the one who replied to Alex's question, even though he wasn't even any one of the two intended targets. "They're not helping us out of the goodness of their heart: they're protecting their interest."

Before anyone could make any comments, Claire's Mentor reached over and rudely grabbed Fletcher by his shirt. Thankfully Fletcher had changed out of his hospital gown into decent outdoor clothing. "Now's not the time to talk." He turned to Alex, hands out. "Give me your phone."

"Why?"

Claire snatched it right out of his pocket and passed it over without a preamble. "They can track us with it. We need to stay under the radar, especially with the hefty bounty on you two."

"I feel loved."

"Oh poor Harry, you must be so love-starved."

Claire missed the way Fletcher looked away at the undercover name in twitches of humor. Yassen gave him a quick glance, amusement flashing in them as if laughing at the fake name.

Wait.

 _Wait wait wait wait_.

He _knew_? Wha—

His thoughts were abruptly cut off when Yassen crudely snapped his phone in half, stomped it with his foot for a few extra measures, and stopped for a brief second to chuck it into the corner of one of the rooms. A glare shut all his spluttering opinions.

"Don't worry," Claire reassured him. "Yassen can get you a new phone after this. He has money. _Way_ more money than anyone needs."

They kept moving, even as the sharp sounds of speakers from the police shattered through the previous silence. Yassen took them down the hallways of the hospital, around the corners, and through doors, until Alex was successfully lost in his own echoing splattering footsteps.

Then they stopped, nearly sending Alex crushing into Fletcher's back if not for Claire lugging him back a few steps to give the two assassins their personal space. Yassen pulled the lid off the chute on the side of the wall, gently letting the metal handle lean against the wall. He gestured invitingly at the dark tunnel, eyes on Alex with a glint in them.

" _Oh hell no_!" Alex was the first to object even before the assassin could say his first word. "If you're gonna say sewage, I'm calling quit."

"I hate to agree with брат, but he's right. We don't have time for your preference."

"I don't—"

Fletcher sighed at Alex's indignant protest, and man-hauled him easily, head first, into the chute.

His cries echoed longingly in the metal tunnel as they slid down.

* * *

"This way, this way. Please follow in an orderly fashion. If you're hurt, please get checked out in the lobby. Do not try to look for any missing members, please wait on the side as we try to finish our first head count. If you wish to report any…"

Wolf tuned out the officer on the speaker to search for Mayford. He knew the number of Officer Lionel's room, but that was still his first destination. He ran up the stairs to the room and stopping short at the sight. The door was rudely smashed wide-open, bullet holes riddling the wall, and a single man laid dead in a pool of his own blood beneath an over-turned gurney.

This must be the man Mayford killed.

He gestured for the officers to tape the scene before departing the room. Mayford had relocated Fletcher to a different room—smart idea—but he had neglected to mention which room. _Not so smart_.

The police had established a perimeter around the hospital, but so far no one had been arrested. Wolf feared that they had somehow slipped out of their grasp, but as he ascended the stairs, the thought was temporarily shoved aside. More dead bodies littered the floor, guns laid beside their body, and precise headshot printed perfectly between their eyes.

Mayford _couldn't_ have done this.

Could he?

Wolf dialed the ex-officer's number. It went straight to voice-mail. Dammit. He told Mayford to keep his phone on.

Maybe he lost it.

But between being barricaded till now, Mayford couldn't have moved far. And even if he had lost it, it would've rung before going to voicemail.

Dammit.

"Sir," one of the officers radioed in. "We've located Officer Wilson. He is unscathed."

Something positive at least.

"What about Officer Lionel? Mayford?"

"No sign of them yet."

"Keep looking."

"Yessir."

Wolf turned as he heard footsteps coming up behind him, and found Eagle and Fox walking toward him. He sure didn't call, but judging by Fox's expression, MI6 was behind the two's confident strides. The sharpshooter arched an eyebrow then shook his head at Wolf's silent inquiries. "Haven't seen your officers yet. Did you try calling?"

"Voicemail."

"Ah."

Fox grimaced as he took a quick glance around, watching the people slowly milling out through the stairways. "We need to find them."

"I know that." Wolf didn't intend for the edges in his tone, but he was honestly not in the mood to explain himself or offer useless apologies. "Spread out, ask around. Mayford mention barricading himself with doctors and civilians, maybe reach out to those in the lobby."

"Okay," Eagle was ready to leave when he hesitated and reached out. "We will find them, don't worry. They probably didn't know it's over."

"Maybe." Wolf was far from convinced. Even if Mayford was no longer an officer, he knew the peril of radio silence. He should know by now that if Wolf said to not turn off his phone, he should not turn off his phone. "Did anyone check the security feed?"

"Last I heard, it went down few minutes into the shooting."

"Mayford might've moved by then. See if you can find what room—"

His sentence was left hanging when another officer radioed in, hesitance evident in his voice. "Commander?"

Despite his sentence still unfinished, Eagle caught the idea and when Wolf jerked his head at the staircase, Fox and Eagle complied. They headed off to the control room as Wolf gave the go-ahead signal to the officer on the other end of the radio.

"One of the civilians confirmed Officer Lionel and Mayford being here. They said they left with a girl and a man with a gun."

His short exclaim was nothing more than of surprise, but the officer took it for a request to repeat. "Officer Lionel and Mayford left with—"

"No, I got that. Do we have an ID?"

"Not exactly an ID, sir, but a name. They heard Mayford calling the girl 'Claire', but they weren't able to catch the man's name. They also said…"

Wolf demanded quickly when the officer trailed off in another bout of hesitance.

"That Mayford and Officer Lionel appeared to be familiar with the two subjects. They left with them without resistance although Mayford did mention they would return shortly."

Sighing, Wolf cast his gaze absently around before replying with a press of the button. "Lemme guess, they never did."

A quiet affirmation came. Seeing that there was nothing else he could milk out of the interview, Wolf gave a quick thanks before clipping the radio back onto his vest. People were still moving about, but there were less of them now on the upstairs floor. He made to move closer to the center isle—and nearly slipped on a shell casing.

He bent to pick it up with a tissue he got from the reception and held it up to eye-level. Grooves ran down the sides from the spins and impacts. Each officer had their own gun, and when one was to put a fired bullet together with a gun, they could determine whether or not it came from that gun. Typically, many of the police precincts did not issue guns to common officers unless absolutely necessary, however with the spiking crime rate, and the danger it brought, in this part of the city, it was almost unthinkable for any of them to not go out there with a holstered gun.

Officer Lionel kept one, probably his own, by his bedside in the hospital. Definitely a bold and reckless move, but Wolf was immensely glad he did.

They found eight dead, and eight guns. They would have to collect all the shell-casing and do a complete analysis of each gun before they could determine just how many guns there really were.

If Mayford had fired only once, killed only one man, somebody else had killed all the others.

Or maybe they shot themselves, the funny thought crossed his mind.

Hadn't there been an eerily similar case only a few weeks ago at the Diamond Auction? The six dead bodies found in the storage room, all shot to death. Bullets to the head. When the analysis rolled out, it was confirmed that the six shot each other to death without any outside aid. The angles were right, and each and every one of the bullets and bullet casings matched the guns they found on the men.

They had found it unbelievable, but there were no other suggestions to suggest otherwise. Nobody came to claim the body, and they found nothing on the dead men's body—it confused them.

Six came to the bank. All six died.

Now more than half a dozen came to a hospital. And probably none of them came out alive.

Jaw setting in flaring frustration, Wolf briskly folded the shell-casing in the tissue and tucked it into his pocket. He turned to trot down the stairs swiftly in urgency.

Mayford said they might've been after Officer Lionel. But Mayford was there as well. And if anything, that man was a magnet for all bloody weird things and troubles.

Whatever it was, he needed to find Mayford. But before that, he needed to have a little afternoon tea with Mrs. Jones. Screw her one-sided demands, he was going to get his answers no matter what today.


	19. Fox

Despite his utter lack of proper education for the past few months, Alex could safely say that he could still equate simple equations.

For example, if sharing was caring, then the phrase 'anyone wanna share?' was equivalent to 'anyone wanna care?'. And likewise, if trust equaled knowing each other like the back of their hands, then the phrase 'I trust you' was the same as 'I know you like I know the back of my hands'—which was so far from the truth about Alex's current predicament. To be honest, Alex wasn't sure he knew the back of his hand as thoroughly as one should, well, know the back of their hands.

 _But that aside,_ the only thing that kept him moving along with Claire and Yassen along the dirty sewage, however, was only trust. Not trust in Yassen, or Fletcher, or Claire, but rather in his ability to get out of bad situations—typically in one piece, but he would take alive anytime if that was the only decent probable option left.

"Where we going?" Alex asked, nearly gagging as a wave of particularly strong smell hit his nostril. Weren't sewage systems where diseases cultivated and people murdered? He would rather not come down with anything unsightly. Or be murdered, on second thoughts.

"My house," supplied Claire as she trudged beside him, carefully—more like Claire-fully, _ha_ —keeping her shoes and clothing away from the edge of the mosquito-infected pool between the two sides.

The water dripped from vents and pipes into the pool, settling off small ripples that bounced off the edges and faded into the darkness as they ventured further down. Most of the areas were dim with the lack of light. The only natural source was from the light streaming past the grates and the twin holes in the manholes. However, the flashlight Yassen and Fletcher held took care of the path ahead.

"So, Fletcher," Alex said casually. "What did you steal?"

Yassen gave him a quick glance over his shoulder at the same time Fletcher replied negatively. "Classified information not suitable for young children."

"Oh c'mon!"

"When did the bounty go up?" Fletcher ignored his exclamation and turned to Yassen instead.

"Just yesterday." Claire's Mentor said quietly, but his voice traveled. "The Boss isn't as imbecilic as you made him be, Fletcher. He knows your intention."

"Oh? What's that?" The sardonic feigned ignorance was thick and heavy in dense sewage air. "Build a spaceship? World domination?"

"He won't stop till you're dead."

"His 'the end justifies the mean' does have a deep sentimental place in my heart." However, Fletcher was having none of whatever Yassen was trying to tell him.

Leaning slightly over to Claire, he asked. "Do you know what they're talking about?"

"Nope, no idea," Claire shrugged. "But I'm guessing it has something to do with you."

"With me?"

Claire shrugged again. "Yassen knows you, and by 'knows you', I don't mean his creepy complete background check. He knows you if you know what I mean. And even though he's only grabbed me off the street for a few months now, I know that he doesn't just know people."

"I don't follow."

"Yeah, well, you will see. He's not hard to understand once you've been spending a few weeks with him."

Alex drew back in discontent. "A few weeks? I'm not staying with you guys for any longer than a few days."

His slightly-louder argument made its way easily to the two assassins in front, though it was only Fletcher who turned to give him a quick huff. "Do you wanna die? If you go back out there, they will kill you. Then they'll have free rein to kill me."

"That sounds like a you problem."

"Did you not hear the part where I said 'they will kill you'? They _will_ kill you."

It wasn't that he enjoyed toying with death, it was that he didn't want to spend more time with assassins than he had to. With Claire? _Maaaybe_. Tom and she would make a great pair when it came to verbose intelligence, and if Tom was the civilized school part of the world, Claire was the other half—the street gossip half. What he couldn't learn from Tom he could from Claire.

He wished he could go back to being the Parkour Kid.

"What we gonna do then? Stay hiding in the house till people stop looking for us?"

Fletcher paused to clap him on the shoulder with a dry shake of his head. "Staying hidden and staying stationary are two completely different things. I think it's time I teach you a little."

Choosing to roll his eyes at Fletcher's patronizing tone, Alex missed the frustrated disapproval in Yassen's pale blue orbs as the flashlight swung back to urge them to get a move on.

They must've continued for a few good dozens of minutes before they hit the wall. Definitely as expected, for a few ways back Yassen had directed them to round the corner and onto the drier land. Above their head at the end of the tunnel, a grate stood directly between them and the outside. Without a word, Fletcher bent down to give Yassen a boost to reach the grate above.

"Your Mentor, Yassen, he ever told you he _knows knows_ Fletcher?" Alex asked, watching the pair of assassins working to remove the grate effortlessly from its unhinged position with nothing more than a few gestures and words.

"I didn't think Yassen was capable of human interactions at all," Claire whispered back. "Honestly, he holds a better conversation with the stray cats I brought home."

"He talks to cats?"

"He has _staring contests_ with my cats."

"Mm, must be his mesmerizing blue eyes."

" _My God_ , do you have a man-crush on him? On an assassin?"

"If you can't beat 'em, join 'em. Right?"

Neither of them had moved their head, which made their hissed-whispered conversation all the more challenging. Fletcher finally hoisted himself onto the land above after checking the surrounding and gave Yassen the all-clear signal with a quick nod.

The pale assassin nodded at the two of them, and Claire stepped forward first to be pushed upward with a foot on Yassen's hand and Fletcher reaching down to grab her by her arm. The combination group effort along with Claire's scrabbling finally got her up and out. Her shoes disappeared over the edge as she found solid ground to stand on.

Alex winced as he stepped on the assassin's hand, and found himself being pushed upward with enough force that his hands managed to find purchase on the edge. Fletcher dragged him up by his shirt until he was sprawl on the ground. When he rolled over from his stomach to his back, Claire was shaking her head in mock disappointment at his less-than-perfect landing.

"Stop grabbing me by my shirt!" Alex huffed at Fletcher, who ignored him to pull Yassen up with a firm grasp on the pale assassin's forearm. "Why did Claire get a gentler treatment?"

"Because we're guests. We don't harm our hosts. And keep your voice down."

He gave Fletcher a disgruntled face, scrunching up his face in a disgusted expression that the man ignored. Yassen replaced the grate back over the sewage tunnels as he clambered out, and they took off in a slower fast-walk.

Liverpool streets were busy places to be, but the alleys between the buildings were thankfully people-free. The hole they climbed out of had led them straight to the secluded streets behind the rows of tall sky-scraping buildings. Alex sort of still remembered Claire's address, and it took them only a few twists and turns before they walked into the busier streets where Claire lived in.

It wasn't much of a fancy place, really, and it reminded Alex of the house he used to live in before his father decided to up and disappear and Alex himself moving to Tom's to crash. Claire told them that the security camera was constantly having problems lately—Claire casually remarked that it was due to the water leakage but Alex knew better than to believe _that_.

The shelf they knocked down in their first meeting had been righted and pulled back against the wall. Alex gave the wall a pitiful glance, tracing the small thin cracks along the surface to the corner.

"Welcome to my humble house," Claire shut the door behind them after checking to make sure nobody suspicious was loitering around. "Shoes off."

Fletcher eased himself into one of the short ottomans around the cracked coffee table with a grunt; his wounds must be troubling him. Running around in the sewage system hadn't exactly been a relaxing vacation after all.

If Yassen noticed, he didn't say a word as he turned to peer into the streets through the window. Besides the occasional pedestrians, it was otherwise empty. "We're staying here a few days. Then we're leaving."

"Leaving? Where? Why?"

"Well," it was Fletcher who supplied the answer. "A dozen came, eight died. You do the math on the survivors. They saw Yassen and Claire. It won't be hard to find this place."

Claire who was scrolling through some sort of feeds on a black phone spoke up. "Hey guess what I found! My face. I just found my _face_ on the bounty list. Not worth as much as you, Harry, but definitely enough to feed me for months. Yassen, you're on there too."

"Welcome to the family business, Claire. You're now a Bounty Hunted."

"So funny, Harry. _So_ funny. I don't know if I should be freaking out right now or trying to drown my sorrows in tea."

"I aimed to please." Alex moved closer so he could see the scrolling list of bounties. He frowned. "Hey, why do you get to keep your phone and mine got snatched and smashed?"

"It's a burner. Yassen made modifications too so it can't be traced or tracked. Pretty neat. I've always wanted one."

Yassen moved away from the window, and his eyes landed on Fletcher. Alex tore his eyes away from the phone to watch the interaction. "How's the side?" the pale assassin asked.

"I was shot _days_ ago," Alex didn't miss the fleeting glint in Fletcher's eyes. "I will live." Fletcher dismissively turned to Alex. "How's your wrist?"

"Like it was never sprained."

Fletcher nodded and turned back to face the door, hands on his knees looking as if he was torn between taking a nap and running out the door. In the end, he flickered his eyes to Claire's phone decisively and jerked his head in Alex's direction. "Give that phone to him, let him call his friends. They'd be searching for you once they hear the news. We don't want that."

The other adult in the room had other opinions in mind. "We can't allow that. If—"

"Relax, брат, he has only two friends—"

" _Ouch_."

"—And they have the knack for looking in the right direction at the wrong time."

"Hey, don't insult my friends!"

"It was a compliment actually if you look at it the other way."

Claire handed the device over when Yassen reluctantly gave her a nod. It took him a while to remember Tom's number for he'd always press on Tom's stupid face to call him instead of actually inputting the number.

His mate picked up on the third ring suspiciously. "Hello?"

"Hey Tom, it's me."

"...This isn't your phone." Looked like Tom hadn't heard the news. "You bought a new one? Mate, that's cool! How much? Was it cheap? Did—"

"Hey hey, listen." Alex rolled his eyes despite knowing that Tom was definitely too far to actually see it. "I'm not going to be home for a while. It's, um, complicated but I'll call you whenever I can. Don't call this number though, it's Claire's phone. It's a burner phone."

" _Ooh_ , who's Claire?" Give it to Tom to cling to the most irrelevant piece of information.

"That _doesn't_ sound like a you problem. Anyway, you heard what I said?"

"Yeah, yeah. Top secret getaway, blah blah blah. Can't hear you over the sound of 'classified' stamping all over your voice." Tom said with just the hint of worry and exasperation coloring his tone. "Just be safe, 'kay mate?"

"Mhm."

"Talk to you later then."

He said a quick bye before he handed the phone to Claire, who quickly ran a program to erase the phone number from the phone. Fletcher nodded and turned to Yassen. "Well, we should start planning our next move."

" _Our_ next move?" Yassen angled his head. " _We_ are not helping you in your mission, Fletcher."

"When I said ' _we'_ , I meant…Harry and I. Not you, or your girl. Think of this as part of the Game, Yassen. You might've helped us, but we're still playing against each other. My enemy's enemy isn't always my friend, you should know that by now."

Yassen gave a dry hum as he crossed his arms and leaned against the wall to watch Fletcher find his footing on the ground. "And if I, we, help you?"

Fletcher's face split in a wide predatory grin. He was waiting for it. "Why, брат, that'll make me a very happy man."

* * *

On the other end of the plaza, Wolf swore loudly, boots crunching angrily at the ground as he walked—he totally did not stomp—to his car parked on the busy curb with Eagle in toll.

The sharpshooter whistled. "Got rejected hard, Wolf-man. Guess Mrs. Jones just really doesn't want to part with the information."

"Spies, the damn whole lot of them." Wolf cursed Fox along with Mrs. Jones under his breath as he pulled open the driver's side and got in. The car shifted as Eagle climbed into the passenger side after rounding the car. "What's so important about Mayford? There's absolutely nothing special about him on his file. Father, mother, no siblings, no past crime. What is he? Special genie?"

"Hey don't hit the car! It ain't the car's fault."

"Shuddup, Eagle."

"Not mine either." Eagle rolled his eyes as he strapped himself in. They pulled away from the front of the Royal and General Bank and headed back to the police station. "What 'bout the phone? Didn't one of your guys picked up a broken phone?"

"Yeah, the sim card was missing. It's just a shell. We even dusted for fingerprints, but it was a dead-end as well."

"But it _was_ Mayford's ph— _Stop the car stop the car_!" Eagle's loud exclamation sent them both jerking to a stop as Wolf stepped fully down on the pedal. The seat belt held them tightly before either of their head could smash against the board. Drivers honked angrily behind them, but Eagle promptly ignored them all as he cranked his neck out the rolled-down window.

" _Goddammit_? Don't yell like that! What's wrong?" Wolf demanded, pulling the car slowly up the nearest curb. "What did you see?"

For a moment, the thought of imminent gunfire was heavy on his mind and his hands crept to the handle of his holstered gun in anticipation. Eagle shook his head at the gesture and pointed at something on the sidewalk. Not something, a _man_. Then he cursed himself and shook his head again in disappointment. "Ah dammit! I overreacted."

"Who?" Wolf leaned over to catch a better glimpse of the man that he had nearly crashed his car for. By now he should've gotten used to Eagle's hypersensitivity, yet he hadn't.

The sharpshooter's eyes were still trained on the man in the gray jacket with his hands in his pocket and a baseball cap hiding his face from them. They watched as he turned and headed straight into the bank. The brief seconds he spent pulling the door open presented them the perfect angle at his face.

"Damn. He looks like Mayford, but he isn't. I thought he was at first." Eagle muttered as he slid back into his seat with a groan.

Eagle was right. If he were marginally correct, the man was in his mid-thirties or forties. There were eerie resemblances in the man's face—like he was Mayford's older brother or _father_ even. Or perhaps he was forcing his mind to see what was not there.

However, Eagle was already two steps out of the car despite the possibility of false assumptions. The door slammed shut behind him as he rushed to catch up to the man. Wolf followed him quickly with a few jogs. By the time the two of them reached the man, they were two steps inside the quiet lobby.

"Hey," Eagle called out. "Hey man!"

The man turned—there was no doubt about the similarity. "May I help you?"

"Hey, um, do you by any chance know a Harry Mayford?"

"Harry who?"

"Harry Mayford."

There was no sign of recognition in the man's face. "I'm sorry I don't. Am I suppose to?"

"No," Eagle quickly backed off. "But—"

The sound of a chain sharply being unhooked diverted their attention. A man had come down the stairs and jerked off the red chains blocking the stairwells. "Rider!" He sounded surprised to see the man Eagle was talking to.

The man turned, gave a quick wave, and said apologetically to Eagle. "I'm sorry. You have the wrong person."

Wolf and Eagle watched the man, Rider, hurried over to the newcomer and the two went up the stairs in brief steps quickly disappear over the top. Eagle glanced over at him. "Wrong guy?"

Even though he didn't know the extent of how MI6 operates, he knew that the Royal and General Bank did not hire or let in just anyone from the streets. That man had some ties with MI6, and so did Mayford. Yet he had no recognition at the name.

Or perhaps, like always, they were over-thinking the striking resemblance.

After all, what was the chance of two people with such similarity living in near proximity and not know or be related to each other? A big _fat_ slimmer-than-none was the only reasonable answer.

"He must have ties with 6," said Wolf as he gestured for them to leave before they caught any more attention. "The way he just waltzed into the bank is self-explanatory."

Eagle nodded. He pushed open the door for Wolf on the way out. "That man called him Rider. Any recognition?"

He shook his head in negative. "Fox might know. Let's go find him."

Fox used to be part of their SAS unit, but he had transferred to MI6 two years earlier. Just up and went. They hadn't talked for a while since then, and it was only recently after Wolf was put on a temporary discharge, did they meet up again. Fox was on a 'home mission', that was all the spy felt necessary to inform them about. Something about local involvements. Fox didn't continue, and they didn't ask.

Being in the military could change lives, for better or for worse. Fox had always been the silent serious sharp-witted one handling communication in their unit, but espionage seemed to have taken even more out of his mild sense of humor.

Personally, Wolf thought Fox needed a dog or something. Someone to keep his mind occupied—nightmares and solitude could take years off a man. He remembered Fox having a nephew that he brought to the camp once. He remembered the way Fox laughed and ruffled the kid's dark hair. Espionage probably took up most of his time, so much that he didn't have time to relax and be the other part of him.

They didn't officially decide to share a house, but the arrangement just happened. Partially because of Eagle's persistence, though Snake played a huge part by demanding that they take care of his house while he went on an overseas trip.

Fox was lounging on the sofa when they came in. He offered a quick hey and shut off the TV. He watched their face before nodding. "Mrs. Jones turned you down?"

"Yeah, that. But there's something else I wanna ask you." Eagle said as he threw himself down on the sofa nonchalantly next to Fox.

"Shoot."

"First time hearing anybody with that first name, but you know a guy named Rider? "

Fox's eyes flickered up in visible recognition, but otherwise, he made no move to acknowledge the name. "Why?"

"Yes or no question, Foxy."

"Yeah. Depends on which Rider you talking about," Fox shrugged. "I know a couple."

Wolf and Eagle exchanged a quick glance in achievement. "Kinda looks like the officer, Mayford? In late-thirties, I'd say. Looks kinda scruffy."

At this, Fox visibly perked up and he straightened. Loudly clearing his throat, he asked with a frown. "Scruffy? Hold on, you _saw_ him? _Where_?" Fox's gaze flickered between the two of them urgently.

Wolf's brows furrowed. "At the bank. Why? He had a striking resemblance to Mayford, so we thought he would know him. He didn't, but he works for 6, doesn't he? "

"He…" The spy hesitated. A deep sigh escaped him with his next breath. "Yeah, he does. He's an old friend of mine. I, I haven't seen him in months. Look, I talked with Mrs. Jones this morning. It's officially 6 business to find Mayford and your missing officer. You can stop putting so much manpower into this; we have it covered."

Wolf snorted. "I don't trust her. I don't know anything about what's happening, and I'm not going to stop until I find my officers myself."

"Do you trust me?" Fox harshly snapped.

Silence settled in the room. Eagle visibly turned in surprise at the sharpness of the spy's tone.

Shaking his head without waiting for a response, Fox softened his tone. "Look, you are all still on the surface, and it's better if you keep it that way. It's important that you don't look any deeper, or you will risk our whole operation. You will risk _John's_ operation! _You will risk Mayford's life_. None of it is what you want, so just drop it. _Please_."

Eagle bit his lips. Wolf wasn't sure how any of it was connecting, but Fox looked like he was on the verge, so he settled for a simpler question. "Who's John?"

Even before the words left Fox's mouth, Wolf knew a deflection was coming their way. "Don't concern yourself with it. Just focus on the petty crimes of Liverpool, Wolf. Leave the rest to us. This isn't police business anymore."

Wolf snorted wryly. Petty crimes, huh. It seemed as if every little 'petty crime' lately was connected to a bigger crime. First, the Parkour nuisance, then the man at the dock, then the zoo, the paintings, and Mayford got dumped in a ditch for chasing after some strayed wolf dog. It was as if Mayford was somehow the center of it.

And now the said magnet was gone after a hospital shooting, leaving nothing but a smashed cellphone.

 _Call me when it's over._ Wasn't that what Mayford said? What a _lie_.

It didn't matter how hard Fox might try to pry him off the case, he wasn't going to. Mrs. Jones asked him to run the police during his temporary leave, and he was damn well not going to leave anything half-ass.

Wolf turned to Fox stiffly. "Mayford's under suspicion for being the Parkour Kid. I'm sorry, Fox, but it _is_ police business."


	20. Catch

The news agencies were quick to snatch up the civilians, rounding them off with a microphone sticking to their face in hope of catching any snippets of information. Despite the immense amount of details they managed to report, however, MI6's fingerprint was all over the missing details: Lionel and Mayford.

It wasn't surprising, at all, when the deputy of MI6 sent for him hours later. Presumably, Fox had something to do with it, because the spy was there when he entered. He gave both the agent and the woman a curt nod before he was granted a seat.

"Agent Daniels had kept me up to date."

Agent Daniels. A brief flicker of annoyance fluttered over Wolf's face. Somehow a simple change of name brought a bitter taste to the tip of his tongue. He practiced the name in his head and nothing connected. Agent Daniels was not Fox.

Sitting beside him, the agent cast him a quick glance. Wolf gave a brisk one in return.

"With all due respect," Wolf began. "You asked me to run the police station, and that's what I'm doing. I don't know why I'm the one doing it, but I'm not questioning your orders. But this, two of my officers are missing. If you're asking me to stand by and—"

"Wolf, let her talk," Fox reached over to cut him off.

"Thank you, Agent Daniels." Was that dry humor he heard in the deputy's tone? "As you know, Mayford is…important to one of our ongoing missions. What do you know about Scorpia?"

Wolf hesitated. Not much. Scorpia wasn't something SAS dealt with, and he knew absolutely nothing about the group besides the bare minimum Mayford and him had dug up during their investigations.

"Scorpia's an international group of assassins. That's not what's important, however. What is important is the USB flash drive they managed to lose a few months back." She paused. "Whatever I'm telling you next should stay in this room. Do you understand?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"The drive they managed to lose contains a list of every Scorpia agents past or present, their names, and their address. Six months ago, the list was downloaded onto that drive for transaction purposes, but it somehow was lost along the way and has yet to be found. The Scorpia agent in charge of that drive at the time was Julia Rothman, I'm sure you recognize that name?"

"Rothman. She's the one who killed one of our suspects' wife and children." Wolf remembered her all right. The blood had been on the officer's uniform when they returned empty-handed. "We also have her under suspicion for breaking into the precinct, killing the suspect, and wounding one of my officers."

"That's only the tip of her iceberg." Mrs. Jones settled more comfortably in her chair. "What you need to know, and what you _want_ to know, is how Mayford is involved"—Wolf nodded—" and why it's prevalent that you don't interfere with our mission."

In his chair, Wolf sat straighter and clasped his hands tighter in his lap.

"Let's just say Mayford is… _working,_ for Scorpia."

"What? No, that's unbelievable."

"He doesn't know the extent this organization will go to, but we have reasons to believe that he was blackmailed into doing everything that he'd done."

Blackmail. Wasn't that something Mayford said to the man that day at the zoo? The suspect being blackmailed into breaking the glass. When Wolf had later asked if Mayford had been blackmailed, Mayford had been awfully vague and bunt about it.

"We don't know what he's been blackmailed with, but we also don't know 100% if he really were blackmailed."

"You said you had reasons?"

Mrs. Jones sighed. "We've been monitoring him and his Scorpia handler for a while now. Those two are pretty much inseparable over the last few weeks. At the moment, Scorpia's in the middle of its infamous recruitment drive. Field Scorpia agents, assassins, choose their best candidates from anywhere, regardless of ethic, size, anything, and they are all pitched against each other. The last standing agent and his candidate wins the game. The candidate then is accepted as one of the new agents. That's as far as we know."

A game of survival? To weed out the weak and plant new seeds? Wouldn't that devastate Scorpia's force? Wolf voiced his concerns out-loud.

"Field agents participating are assassins-in-training from their camp at Malagosto, and there are typically only a few seasoned field agents participating. And you already know one of the agents."

"...Mayford?"

"No, your Officer. Officer Lionel. Mayford is his candidate."

What? Wolf frowned at the absurdity. Mayford he understood, but officer Lionel? He had his suspicions about the man's characters, however, an assassin for Scorpia was a bit far-fetched. "I can't sit here and listen to you sprouting nonsense against my officers. With respect, ma'am? You have the wrong men. You're accusing two police officers of being part of an international group of assassins."

"Sit down, soldier. For starters, neither of these two are confirmed police officers. Lionel, or better known as _Fletcher_ , is one of the top field agents from Scorpia. We didn't even know when we first met him in your precinct. He is _trained_ to deceive."

"And Mayford?" Wolf snorted. "Did he charm his way into his job? How did you know he is working for Scorpia?"

Mrs. Jones nodded at Fox, who stood from his chair and went to open the door. Wolf watched the interaction in confusion. The door opened, and the man from yesterday came strolling in after a quick friendly clasp on Fox's shoulder. Rider. He was wearing civilian clothing and looked mildly unkempt as if he had been keeping an effort to look like he was from the street.

"This is Agent John Rider. You've met. Agent Rider, this is Wolf."

"SAS," Wolf explained as he shook hands.

The agent gave him an easy smile. "Pleasure to formally meet you."

The longer he observed the agent, the more certain he was that he was, one way or another, related to Mayford by blood. Everything about him was like an older splitting image of Mayford: their brown eyes, postures, and the first-impression ease about them.

However, before he could ask him a second time about his relation with Mayford, Mrs. Jones explained. "You asked about Mayford's importance: this is it. Mayford is related to Agent Rider."

Agent Rider confirmed with a nod. "When you stopped me yesterday, I didn't recognize the name because Mayford isn't his real name. His name's Alex. Alex Rider."

 _Alex_ _Rider_ , huh. The name tasted foreign as he tested it out. "Brothers?"

The man chuckled. "Alex will laugh if you say that in his face. He's always thought of me as old. No, I'm his father, actually."

Father? The man couldn't be more than ten years older than Wolf.

"Mayford, Alex, does know that Agent Rider works for us. That meeting we had down in the precinct? I filled him in briefly before your timely interruption."

Wolf had a vague recollection of it. Wasn't that after the family of the man from the zoo, James Thompson, was killed? They'd found a listening device on the man. Wolf had timely walked in to see guns pointing in his officer's direction and Mayford looking rather…intimidated.

Mrs. Jones gestured for them to take their seat again. "Scorpia most definitely knows about Agent Rider and Mayford's relationship. They have specifically warned us against our involvement by threatening to kill Alex."

Wolf preferred the name Mayford over Alex.

Agent Rider grimaced. "I did disappear on him without a note and left him at his friend's. I was afraid that he'd dig too deep into anything I leave for him. Alex has a knack for being at the wrong place at the wrong time after all."

That sounded like Mayford alright. Wolf snorted in agreement. At least that was something to link these two seemingly-unrelated characters together. "What are we doing to find him?"

"We've already sent out alert to every agent in the proximity," Mrs. Jones curtly replied. "We cannot actively send out a search party, but the police can. Claire Chester and Yassen Gregorovich, these are the two that Mayford and Fletcher left with. Gregorovich is an assassin working for Scorpia; I'm sure you know of him."

Wolf nodded. He'd never encountered the man, but he was infamous all right among the SAS community. He turned just in time to see a mixture of conflicting emotions fluttered across Agent Rider's face at the mention of the name. Perhaps the man had his own personal encounter with the assassin.

"The weak link in all of this is the girl, Claire Chester. Being a street informant, she should be a familiar face to many and easier to track." She slid a closed manila folder containing her information across the table to him. "This USB drive, it was last in possession by a man named Benjamin Crawford."

That name rung a bell. "That Benjamin Crawford? The man that was killed by Scorpia?"

Agent Rider meekly raised his hand, a wry grimace on his face. "Exactly. Scorpia sent agents after him when they realized he was the one who took the drive. He's completely innocent of course, he knew nothing about what's inside the drive he picked up. The first time we met was at the dock; I was the one who shot and killed the agent who was after him."

Distant memories came to him after a few tries. Benjamin Crawford being willing to speak only to Mayford. And a message. "You left a message for Mayford? Something about him in danger?"

"Yes." The agent nodded. "Despite going off-radar, I've been keeping tabs on him whenever I can. I knew about his involvement in the police. I couldn't physically interfere or it'd set an even bigger target on his back. When Fletcher first reached out to him, I knew Scorpia was onto him. Getting Crawford to leave a message was the only way I knew how to contact Alex."

Wolf leafed through the folder in his hands as Mrs. Jones took over, quick to get back on track. "Your job is to find him. Fox will be your liaison between us. Do whatever you can to bring Mayford in. With the amount of time he's been exposed to Scorpia, the information he has will be useful to us."

"And I'd like him alive too," Agent Rider added, eyes flickering to Mrs. Jones in just the slightest hint of exasperation.

"Roger that."

Mrs. Jones slipped another file over the table to him. "That's the basic information you need on Mayford's real identity. Take your time, read it over. It might help you in searching for him."

When Wolf walked out of the bank minutes later, his mind was reeling with the same mission he had walked in with but with more information and stakes. Assassins playing Battle Royale with the world as its playground wasn't entirely shocking, he could deal with that. But Mayford being not Mayford but rather a _kid_ , a _damn_ barely-seventeen years-old kid named Alex, wasn't something Wolf could just take in with a nod. Mrs. Jones also managed to confirm his suspicion of him being the Parkour Kid in the blink of an eye. She had brushed past it as easily as she had introduced Mayford's father.

Agent John Rider of MI6.

He supposed that explained a lot of things, among them many of Mayford's characteristics, but at the same time, it added even more questions. How did Mayford meet Lionel really? Or should he ask how did _Alex_ meet _Fletcher_? Mayford was almost at ease around that assassin. The kid even went to visit the man at the hospital after he was shot, and the man looked mildly concerned about the kid's well-being after the murder scenes.

 _Speaking_ of murder scenes…Wolf groaned. He couldn't believe he had unknowingly exposed an underage kid to so many brutal murders without a second thought. Goddammit. Mayford did look young, but there was just something in his face that, when his eyes darkened in thoughtfulness, he looked years older. Maybe it was due to the buzz the kid called a beard along his jawline. Might actually look good on him.

Mrs. Jones had given him the name of the man and the girl whom Mayford and Lionel had escaped with. One was the infamous assassin Gregorovich, and the other a common street-smart girl Claire. He wasn't worried about Claire—they had their ups and downs but it was all right in the end—but he was rather apprehensive about the assassin.

His worry was eased by a few fractures walking out. The new information had kicked off a few unknowns, but his concern returned folds stronger at the prospect of Mayford, and some street girl, running with two highly-trained assassins. What was the phrase Mrs. Jones used? _Seasoned_ assassins.

The drive back to the precinct was silent, with him behind the wheel and Eagle on the side, until Wolf stopped at the red light.

"I'm gonna find him," Wolf clenched the steering wheel and growled in mild catharsis. "And then I'll kick his barely-seventeen-years-old ass to oblivion."

In the passenger's seat, Eagle rolled his eyes.

* * *

Turns out, Fletcher's idea of finding out where the USB drive went wasn't too far from his: go through Benjamin Crawford's widow's house.

"I already went through it," said Alex as he shook his head. "It's not there. We literally rifled through every single drawers and corner. And even if it were there, it's not there anymore."

"Well, where else can a guy hide secrets if not as his home?"

"He might not be hiding it really." It was Claire who spoke up. "I mean, he probably doesn't know the importance of that drive."

After Claire had been clued in on Fletcher's object of motivation, AKA the drive, she was more or less on-board with them. _It was better than killing each other_ , she had said. Alex gladly agreed on that. At least _somebody_ else on this dysfunctional team was sane.

"The Head sent agents after him. Even if he didn't know what's inside, he would know how important it is by the number of attempts on his life. Harry, how is the relationship between Beck and Benjamin?"

"Husband and wife."

The assassin sighed. "I asked 'how', not 'what'."

"Well, Mr. English." Alex rolled his eyes. "They have a lot of pictures of them together on the wall and shelves. There's a daughter, she graduated a few years back. Benjamin and Beck seemed pretty close." Then he added as almost an afterthought. "Beck's a great person but she's a little skittish to outsiders—"

"She uses," Claire supplied helpfully. "I saw her a few times 'round the corner. She's there on the weekends and sometimes on Wednesdays."

"That explains that small satchel she wouldn't let me touch. Anyway, she said Benjamin worked at the port sometimes when he isn't on board ships as a waiter. He's away a lot of times, but they're still pretty close. They even call each other every night when they're apart."

"Aw, how sweet. No wonder she's upping her take the past few weeks."

Alex huffed at the nonchalantly-worded comment. "She's grieving, cut her some slack."

"If you're gonna cut her some slack," Fletcher advised. "Cut her satchel. You said that's the only place you haven't looked. Maybe it's in there."

"Oh haha, funny. _Very_ funny. Why don't I just go and _ask_ her if she's seen any USB drives lying around?" Alex paused to give a pregnant silence before continuing. "What 'bout bank safes? Did they have one?"

"Why would they store it in a bank?" Fletcher said. "It's not that personal. What about his workplace? Ships? Port?"

Yassen who had been leaning against the wall the whole time in silence said quietly. "I know somebody. I will talk with them."

"How?" Pale features turned to Alex at his question.

"They will know his work habits." Yassen sounded almost condescending when he replied.

"Oh right," said Alex wryly. "I forgot. Habits _kill_."

The ghost of a smile that flickered across Yassen's face was nothing reassuring. Fletcher took that chance to enter back in. "Alright, that's done then. Let's split up. I'd take Harry and we'd take a stroll around the neighborhood."

Friction ignited in the air between the two assassins as visible conflict came between them. Alex and Claire shared a quick glance: hers apprehensive, and Alex's confused. Turning in her chair, Claire muttered to him, "Got a sec?"

Alex let Claire dragged him to the corner. "What's wrong?"

"Listen," she said quietly. "Yassen wants me to pass to message to you: Fletcher can't be trusted. You might think of him as a friend, but he isn't."

Alex rolled his eyes. Assassins and their theatrics. "I don't trust either of them. If anyone, the only person I trust in this room is me. And maybe you. Just maybe."

"He's serious."

"So am I. Look, who am I suppose to trust? An assassin, or an assassin? When it comes down to that, I'm going with option C. Me."

"I don't know Yassen for long, but, he's one damn bastard. Really sly. Though in the end, I trust him. Just enough to know that he won't murder me in the back. Sorta like assassin's code of honor. I just know he won't." Claire spared a glance at the two across the room. "Can you say the same for Fletcher?"

Could he?

The two assassins had finally resorted to a limited verbal argument instead of a long staring contest. Alex supposed that when it really came down to picking a side, he'd stick with Fletcher. He knew the man longer. Sure, they had had their ups and downs—literal ups and downs—but they had something working between them.

Besides, Tom and James were good at judging people. If they agreed to let an assassin live under the same roof as them, Alex would gladly trust Fletcher more than some pale-faced blue eye assassin that straight up told Alex to trust him. Though that definitely took some narcissistic _gut_ to say that straight to somebody's face.

Fletcher beckoned him from the sofa as he stood. "Alright, let's go. We don't have all day. Remember to stay under the radar, and don't get shot."

"Good idea."

On his way out the door, his eyes met Yassen's. Perhaps what he saw in those eyes convinced him, just a little bit, of his trustworthiness.

"I'll see you at noon."


	21. Game Changer

A.N.: Chapter's definitely shorter than usual, but I wanted to churn this out before I procrastinate even more. (but look out for a one-shot soon!)

Happy Thanksgiving and happy pre-holiday season to those who don't celebrate turkey day!

* * *

When it came down to blending lies into casual off-handed comments, Fletcher took the Oscar. A promised 'simple stroll' wasn't exactly a simple stroll, in the end. As it turned out, Fletcher had a much different ulterior motive.

"We're getting farther and farther away from Claire's safe house," remarked Alex out loud as they walked down the streets. They had been walking for almost half an hour now, but the street had no end. Fletcher seemed to be wandering almost aimlessly. Throwing off a tail or something, but there were no tails.

"It's not a safe house if it isn't safe."

"That's not my point. In fact, that's _beyond_ the point." They stopped along the busy curb, and Fletcher tried to hail down one of the speeding cabs even as Alex tried to continue their conversation. "Where're we headed?"

Fletcher didn't reply. One of the yellow-skinned pulled to a stop for them. The assassin was the first to step into the car before demanding the same of Alex. Sometimes, Alex wished the assassin would let go of some information if he wanted Alex to trust him. There was no such thing as unconditional trust, Alex frowned in dismay. He asked again, this time more quietly so the driver in front wouldn't hear them.

"Take us to the airport." Finally, Fletcher said to the driver.

Airport? "Why?" Didn't Benjamin work at the port? Port as in _ships_ , for heaven's sake.

"Alrighty, mates." Whatever reply he wanted to garner out of Fletcher was interrupted by the driver loudly pronouncing as he shifted gear and pulled back into the streets. "To the airport it is. Strap on ya seat belts, and have a nice drive! Shouldn't be more than a dozen minutes and we'll be there faster than you can say airplanes are flying creatures of the sky!"

Quietly, Alex leaned over. "Why the air—"

"Fasten your seat belt, young man. My driving's gonna be _fast_. Speedy. Not your normie grandma speed, oh no."

No choice but to follow, Alex strapped himself in before attempting to rescue his conversation with Fletcher again. "What's special about the airport? I thought—"

"Just making a quick right turn here, hold on to ya belts 'cuz it might get windy." He chuckled madly. Oh for goodness's sake would the man just—"So whatcha guys had for breakfast? Mine was amazing, I tell ya. A- _maa_ -zing."

He did his best to ignore the enthusiastic driver. "Fletcher? Why—"

"Ya know we don't usually eat kebab for breakfast? Well, I did. My wife made it. She's an a-maa-zing cook, just sayin'. I'd invite y'all to join us for dinner, but then." That chuckle again. "She ain't trust strangers, sorry."

Fletcher might not enjoy casual conversations, but he seemed more than willing to let the man take control as he sat quietly. Leaned back in his seat, he was looking more amused than annoyed. Alex, however, was more annoyed than amused.

"That's great, man! I love kebabs too. _Okaaay_ , we're done." Alex reached over to draw up the window between front and back, successfully blocking the sound transmission. "Where we headed, Fletcher?"

The assassin sighed. "Where do you think?"

"Uh, not Claire's safe house?"

"We're being chased," Fletcher attempted to explain his reasoning as he heard the accusation in Alex's tone. "And despite what Yassen did? He's not to be trusted."

 _Riiight_. Assassin's and their paranoia. Alex rolled his eyes. "Yassen said the same thing about you." He missed the way Fletcher's jaw grew taunt for a brief second as Alex turned to glance out the street. "What's so bad about Yassen? He seems nice. Besides, you're the one who stole something—"

"Correction: I did not steal _anything_." Fletcher turned. "The Boss sent men after me because he didn't want the drive to fall into my hand. The USB has always been my goal, the Boss just didn't realize it soon enough. He's afraid I'll get it before he does."

"Well, why can't he wait till you get it then kill you, and take it back?"

The assassin shot him a long withering glance. "Do I look like I'm easy to kill?"

Alex opened his mouth to remark how easy it would be for him to murder Fletcher in the back of the cab before he promptly shut his mouth. The thought of it was unnerving. Since when did he become a cold-blooded killer? Self-deprecating humor, he understood, but turning murder into a joke?

That, or he was being too self-conscious.

It wasn't too long ago that a young boy died under his misfiring. Back of the head. Perfect accuracy. Just like Ian had been trying to teach him when he was barely enough to reach the star atop the Christmas tree.

Fletcher cleared his throat. "I got hold of Benjamin Crawford's traveling schedule from six months ago. That was when the USB fell into his hands. He was at the port of San Francisco then."

"We're going to San Francisco?"

"Something like that. Imagine you found a drive at a public port, what would you do?"

"Uh, free flash drive. Keep it." _Duh_.

Fletcher snorted and shook his head. "Benjamin Crawford works on ships and at ports, naturally he understands the normal procedure. Lost and Found is the place to go."

"Did anyone tell you that, for an assassin, you're very optimistic?" Alex asked dryly. "Personally, I claim ownership to everything I pick off the ground. Too bad it doesn't apply to dogs."

Fletcher huffed in amusement, "If it's not in the SF port lost and found, we'll follow his footsteps from there—but I doubt that."

"Why're you so sure?"

The shrug and a comment of "intuition" didn't help, but Alex got the gist. Fletcher's intuition did make sense, just a bit. The short interaction he had with Benjamin Crawford at the precinct immediately ruled the man out as a murderer. He's too affable, too talkative, and too tamed for his own good. That man probably had no sense of adventure besides that short stroll down the beach.

Besides, San Francisco was a great place.

"What do you want with the drive anyway? World domination? Be the next Scorpian? Donate to an orphanage?" Alex paused. "If you stop chasing after it, won't Scorpia stop trying to kill you as well?"

"That's not how things work, Alex." For a moment, Alex thought Fletcher was talking about how Scorpia worked—he wasn't. "I made my path. I'm not going to stop. As for the drive, it's the key to power."

"Power, huh." Perhaps it was all in the tone of whatever Fletcher had just said sounded exactly like what a villain would say, but Alex heard no menace in them. Ambition, sure. But malice? Eh. Fletcher wanting to be powerful wasn't any of his business. He didn't look like he wanted anymore bloodshed than Alex wanted, or so Alex hoped anyway. "What are you going to do?"

"Not sure, but I know what _you_ are going to do."

" _Really_. What?"

"You're going to step out of the car. We're here." Fletcher jerked his head at the airport beyond their window. The driver knocked on the barrier between them and rolled it down seconds later, announcing their arriving as the cab pulled to a stop.

Fletcher paid with his pocket change, but right before Alex could exit the vehicle, the assassin threw a cap over his head as he donned his own. "Once outside, keep your head casually down and walk with a different gait but don't draw attention. Act as if you belong."

"I've always belonged."

"Keep telling yourself that," was the reply accompanying a quick jab. "The only people after us will be Scorpia agents, and possibly the police—"

"And Yassen and Claire by now—"

"Somebody had hidden our disappearance nicely from the news, so no civilians should know. If anybody you recognize greets you, just say hi back and act normal."

"Totally not skeptical at all," muttered Alex with one foot out the cab.

"Alright, off you go. Stay few steps behind me at all time. For any purposes, you are my…"

Before Fletcher could say anything, Alex intercepted. "I swear, if you're gonna say 'little brother', I'm going to laugh. Or barf."

"Cousin then."

" _Twice_ -removed."

"Deal."

* * *

It didn't take Wolf long to muster a few officers to Claire's house. Knowing that, if MI6's intel was right, they could be potentially facing two assassins didn't go easy on his apprehensive mind. Luckily, Eagle and Fox decided to tag along. Vest beneath their casual civilian outfits, they stood only a few paces beside the fully-uniformed officers.

At early noon, the deserted street was barely visible behind looming buildings. Wolf would understood why a street thief like Claire chose to live in a place like this; it was in the center of almost everything. Information would be a breeze to come by.

They weren't treating this as a hostile take-down, but as long as they were not fired upon, they would not fire. Wolf knocked loudly on the door with a hand on his holster. "This is the police department. Open up!"

Eagle was peeking into the living room through the curtains drawn slightly apart behind the closed window. He shook his head in negative. No one was home. At least not in sight anyway. They tried again. Same result.

"Looks like nobody's home."

If not at the girl's, then where? Mayford's friends had already been interviewed. They had, and he quoted, no idea where Mayford stuck himself to. Wolf should've asked them about their knowledge on Mayford's involvement, but then, they were _sixteen_ years old. Teens might be champions in front of video games, but they were far from one when it came to real-world chaos. Mayford was, well, an exception—though Mayford had blood-ties to MI6, so that was mildly excusable.

Seeing no further uses, Wolf nodded at the officers behind them in dismissal. They holstered their weapon in acknowledgement and headed back to their vehicles. That left the three of them standing outside the unoccupied house, unsure of their next moves. "Where else could they be?"

"Maybe Agent Rider would know something about his son. A secret hideout?"

"I was thinking," said Fox. "We should go speak with Mayford's friends again. They don't know everything, but they definitely know _something_."

"We already asked. They don't know where he is."

"But," Fox argued. "They know Mayford better than we do. They will know his tendencies, and how he deals with events."

Eagle made a noise in affirmation, forcing Wolf to begrudgingly accept the new proposal. But before they could return to their car, sounds of footsteps landing on and scraped against the dark pavement in the alleys behind the house.

Movements. Somebody was running, and their footsteps were hard to mask on the asphalt.

Instantly, their guns were out. Wolf gestured for them to spread out and move to the alley. The footsteps were moving further away now, in the opposite direction. They hoped for a quiet ambush, but the hope for silence was quickly dashed as gunshot rung out in the alleyway. Something fell onto the floor, though whoever it was got up just as quick. Then the footsteps reversed direction, and came louder their way.

Wolf abandoned the stealth approach and turned the corner. Immediately, he located the girl, Claire, by her gray sweatshirt, then, as his eyes focused, the figure on the other end of the alley. She was running in their direction, but, however, as soon as she saw them, she skidded to a stop.

She recognized him, Wolf knew. Another shot rung out in their moment of hesitation, and it missed the girl by a narrow margin, nearly clipping one of them in the process. Fox took the initiative to return fire at the figure. The man managed to ducked behind a row of trashcans as soon as the bullets left the chamber. Taking the cover provided, Wolf rushed forward to close the distance between the girl and dragged her backward to their side.

He dumped her unceremoniously behind the wall. Stay down, he gestured. More or less, she agreed through scrabbling movements. More shots ricocheted off the garbage chute behind them, forcing Eagle and Fox to seek cover beside the girl.

"Who's that?" asked Wolf in the moment of silence. Fox was pressed against the wall, listening intensely for any sound of footsteps closing in, while Eagle's own weapon was trained on the buildings around them in case there were more than one assailants.

"I don't know." Claire shook her head. Awfully calm, Wolf noted.

"You were in the house?" Eagle spared a comment amid his surveillance. "It's okay, you can tell us. It's not a crime with us."

"You knocked." She relented without further persuasion. "I know police isn't good, so I ran. And then, as soon as I climbed out of the window, that guy started shooting at me." Claire grabbed the upper section of her sleeves and glanced at the rip. "Nicked me too, and I nearly tripped over my own feet. Look, just let me go. You guys don't know what's going down."

"Oh we know," Eagle quipped dryly. "Assassins, right? Relax, we just want to know where Mayford is."

"If I do, will you let me go?"

"We'll…consider it." That would be a hard fat no.

"Then I'm not telling you."

Fox caught his eyes and shrugged when Wolf asked the silent question. The girl was just a kid. Looked barely of age. They _could_ let her go; she wasn't their objective. But her having been _shot_ at was a game changer. People were after her for siding with Fletcher and Mayford. She wasn't safe on the streets. But where could they bring her to?

"How 'bout this: you tell us where Mayford is, and we'll get you a hotel room. Get some guards too. You're not safe out here alone."

"Please," at this, she rolled her eyes. "I can take care of myself. New deal: I tell you what I know about Mayford's whereabouts, and I go free. I'm not your responsibility, man, so don't make me."

Fox nodded at Wolf as he glanced at the alley. "Fine. Where's Mayford?"

"Well," she cleared her throat. "No idea."

Sounded like they just got played. Before she could run off, Wolf grabbed her by the arm. "Sit back down. What do you mean no idea?"

"Mayford left with the other dude, Fletcher, earlier this morning." She shrugged off his grip easily. "They said they were going for a stroll around the neighborhood and be back at noon."

Eagle glanced at his watch. "It's two. I guess they didn't come back?"

"Nope. Now can I go? I've got places to be."

"Did they tell you where they're headed? Any idea where they might've gone."

Claire shook her head. She didn't know. She looked like she didn't know either. Sighing, Wolf released her. Fox slowly straightened and peered into the alley. Moments later, he shook his head. Whoever it was, they were gone. When they turned back to face the girl, she was gone as well.


	22. San Francisco

They found Mayford hours later.

Well, _found_ was a strong word. No, they didn't have a well-needed chat, but they saw him through the reruns of the security footage at the airport. MI6 did runs on all the street cameras and any public footage they could find near Claire's house, hoping that they would at least catch a glimpse of the two somewhere. Facial recognition wasn't an efficient application, so Wolf and a few agents had spent the last couple of hours staring at monochrome screens. Fortunately, their work paid off, and it was easy from then to follow Mayford and Lionel along.

A cap and an off-kilter gait did little to stop them from recognizing Mayford as he entered the airport. Fletcher was too there, walking alongside easily and the two made conversations the whole way to the counter. Not entirely fitting the killer and his hostage, but Wolf believed that there was almost affinity between the pair—which was _bad_ , of course, but it would keep Mayford alive.

Wolf didn't manage to see where their destination from the brief conversation Lionel had with the ticket seller at the counter, but MI6 narrowed it down to the either one of the three domestic flights or four internationals. A quick check on their fake passports—where they managed to get it, Wolf had no idea—narrowed it down to just one: a flight bound for San Francisco three hours ago.

It would take them 10 hours just to get there on a one-stop flight, which meant they would have to wait 10 hours before they could try to initiate any contact. However, it was enough time for an MI6-issued aircraft to catch up to them and even have time for a quick lunch as they wait for the pair. Efficient plan, but unrealistic: Mrs. Jones wanted a quiet op and it would simply be too much of a chaotic situation to request permission to land a military aircraft in a foreign country.

"What's there in San Francisco?"

"That was where the drive was last physically seen," Fox offered. "We lost track of it from there six months ago."

"Think Mayford went to retrace the steps?" asked Eagle. "If that's the case, we find the disk, we find them, right?"

Well, that sounded about right. Find the disk first then set a trap and wait for the two. Although, with the lack of witness and sources to talk to, the chance of MI6 finding the disk was growing slim."You have an idea where it might be?"

"Did you talk to the wife? Mrs. Crawford, was it?"

"We checked." Fox shook his head. "She's gone. The house's on the market since two days ago."

Wolf frowned. " _Everything's_ been cleared out?" What if the drive was left behind? It sounded as if the Crawfords had no idea just exactly what they had in hand. But undoubtedly, it would be encrypted and without decrypting it, it was improbable that Beck Crawford would simply leave it behind.

"Not sure."

Making a decision, Wolf decided to go check out Crawford's house with Eagle while leaving Fox to find any surveillance he could to locate Mayford and Fletcher. On the way to their car just parked across the streets, an officer in uniform waved at them. Wolf waved back.

Eagle, of course, commented. "I think you're spending too much time as a police chief."

Getting into the driver's side, Wolf said. "It's part of my rehab. MI6 asked for my help on this."

"On solving petty crimes?" Eagle snorted, strapping himself in. They both heard the click of the seat belt loud and clear amid the silence in the car. "C'mon, Wolf, we both know that your heart's not in this. You're just running away."

The engine loudly roared to life. "We're not talking about that."

"I think we should," Eagle disagreed. "I know you're still angry at Snake for—"

Blowing out a loud sigh and hands tightening around the steering wheel, Wolf caught Eagle's eyes. "I'm not angry at Snake. I was, but I'm over it."

"Well Wolf, you gotta say that to Snake _in his face_ or he won't get it, alright? You think he went on vacation because of his twisted ankle?"

Of course not, Wolf's brows narrowed. Snake didn't want to face Wolf's irrational anger. It's been a good few months now, and even though it still bloody hurt, Wolf was okay with letting go.

"You blamed Cougar's death on him. _Cougar_." Eagle leaned forward. "He was a traitor. Snake shot him to save your life."

Well, Wolf could've resolved the situation without losing anybody. He could've talked Cougar's rifle down or convinced his comm expert that the man he was shielding was an evil force that the world would be a safer place without. There were a lot of what-ifs that Wolf had no way of shutting out, but he was learning how to gradually.

"I know," he said simply.

"Good, because the sooner you pick up the damn phone and call Snake, the faster we can get out."

Head turned. "Get out of what?"

"Dunno. This hellhole? I need to be out there doing something instead of looking after paperwork."

Yeah. They all needed an adrenaline boost at this point or they were going to fall apart.

Wolf pulled up outside Crawford's house and they noticed immediately the for-sale sign planted in the garden. Mrs. Beck Crawford had been on the verge of a breakdown ever since she identified her husband down at the morgue; nobody could blame her for moving away.

They got the keys from the agent after making a few calls. The house was relatively spotless in terms of furniture, but the rooms further back were dim from the lack of sunlight. Not the ideal place for natural light when the sun was starting to climb down. There were still boxes along the wall as if she had gotten tired of moving and decided to take a break but never got back to it. Besides the dust, the house was filled with melancholic silence.

"Looks all packed," Eagle remarked, battling away at the air. "As if nobody's been living here for years."

Dust had settled quickly on the boxes, giving the house an air of the abandoned, Wolf noted as he carefully stepped forward. Eagle took the hint to explore the rest of the house in search of any clues. Really, the probability was slim—but you miss all the shots you don't take, right?

The boxes were taped and packaged as if ready to be burned and Wolf left them as they were; They could always get help from the precinct to go over the boxes, much more efficient than the two of them unboxing it here. Wolf's gaze panned the room in search of anything visually out of place. Cracked wall, dirty ceiling, kitchen counter, but nothing. Wolf squatted down to peer under the sofa. Nothing. Taking a wild shot, he reached further inside. His fingers came back with dusts. And _more_ dusts.

Then his hands felt across a crack in the floor. He pressed his face against the floor to get a better look, but with the dim light and the disadvantage of sight, he was unable to make out anything. With a grunt, Wolf stood up and shoved the sofa aside.

"Found something?" Eagle asked upon hearing the soft screech of wood against metal.

The sofa was moved aside enough to reveal a trapdoor covered in dust. Eagle knelt down, and carefully pried it open by the handle. It gave away after a few persistent tugs—must've been unopened for months and probably years.

Beneath the door was a safe, hardly rusted and with bare-minimum dust. Definitely been hidden from open air. Wolf and Eagle shared a look.

"Why would a normal family have a safe hidden under a trapdoor?" Eagle asked. "Think the drive might be in there?"

"Maybe," said Wolf. Probable, but was it likely?

With the amount of dust that had settled over the door, it was likely that Beck Crawford had no knowledge of the safe or else the dust would have been disturbed to open the door. Perhaps it was left behind by the previous owners of the house.

They tried the metal handle of the safe, but it was closed and locked with a password. The password was six-digits long. They were afraid to cause any alarm so they left it as it was, making a mental note to have it opened and examined later.

"You found anything?" asked Wolf as he reached down and pulled the safe out of the hole. "The rest of the house?"

"Well, the personal things are gone. There's just one photo left, I think she must've forgotten it." Eagle handed it to Wolf once he set down the safe. "That's Mr. And Mrs. Crawford, and that's their daughter."

"Hadn't seen her daughter around," remarked Wolf. "Not even mentioned."

"She didn't show up to the funeral?"

"There was no funeral. Benjamin Crawford was cremated, wasn't he?"

"I don't know," Eagle shrugged as he took back the photo. "Wasn't around back then."

"The family chose not to have a funeral service, that's what Mayford told me. Said they had some financial issue." Strange that a daughter wouldn't at least come to visit the last place her father had been. Offer support, even, to her mother. "Do you think Beck Crawford went to live with her daughter?"

"Possibly. She doesn't have anywhere else to go, does she?"

Wolf nodded and stood. Mayford had been in charge of the investigation, Heaven knew he probably already asked Beck Crawford enough questions about the drive; however, they needed to know what had been asked and ask some of their own as well. "Let's try to get a phone number for Mrs. Crawford, and if we can, locate the girl."

They should also check up with Fox, see if he had found a way to locate Mayford more precisely. He glanced at his phone—it's been almost five hours since Mayford's plane had left for San Francisco. Double that, and the pair would be in the golden state.

Wolf had no doubt that Mayford was just a pawn in this game, but somehow he doubted that Mayford was _just_ a pawn. The chance of the ex-officer just turning and heading straight back home when they find him in the near future was akin to zero. In fact, Wolf doubted Mayford would even give up Lionel willingly. For now, they just had to track those two to their exact locations and pray that Mayford had enough common sense to not let his guard down.

* * *

Five naps and three movies later, Alex and Fletcher were in San Francisco. Every time they passed a security check, Alex felt like at least somebody was going to sound the alarm and they would be hauled off to jail for breaking so many laws that Fletcher had given up on explaining them all to Alex.

"Welcome to San Francisco, Mr. Jackson. Enjoy your stay." The man behind the counter passed back their passports with a customer smile.

"Thank you," Fletcher returned the smile as he tucked the booklets into his pocket. "C'mon, Vince. We're almost there."

Right. Alex was Vince Brandt, Matthew Jackson's nephew. If anybody were to ask, they were here to visit Vince's grandparents, Matthew's parents. In any case, Alex doubted anyone would bother asking them, seeing that they looked every bit like two tourists.

"What's our first step?"

"Find a few hotels, rent rooms."

"A few hotels?"

"For anybody tracking us," Fletcher nodded as they waited in line for a taxi. "Will buy us some time when it comes to the worst. After that, we'll go check out the lost-and-found. I know what the drive looks like, it shouldn't take us a whole day to go through all the centers."

Alex nodded in agreement. He could do nothing except to follow Fletcher's orders, find the drive, then he might have the chance of being his own person again. But then, something akin to guilt blossomed to the surface at the thoughts. Fletcher might be a douchebag, the Emo-man, and an assassin who lied to Alex about his father's capture, but at the end of the day, Fletcher was an okay person.

Fletcher had got him into this mess, literally set his life in Alex's hands, because he believed that Alex was capable of what he expected and more. Funnily, Alex thought he might actually trust Fletcher more than he was telling himself. After all, he had ventured all the way out to San Francisco on the man's suggestion, hadn't he? Of course, not considering the murderous bounty on them back home.

Alex grimaced. Hopefully Claire was okay, that Yassen would help her out of this bind they had gotten themselves into. Claire and Yassen could have had stayed away from this mess, and let Alex and Fletcher be killed at the hospital. Yet here they were, alive and kicking. Yeah, Alex might've just had his first taste of backstabbing somebody he considered a friend. Thankfully neither Tom nor James were involved, Alex thought absently.

They went to a total of five different hotels and received one different card for each one of them. However, Alex soon realized that Fletcher had no intention of staying at any one of them. In fact, the assassin had no intention of staying the night at all. They had six hours till they lose light completely, perfectly enough time for them to go through the port centers Fletcher said. If they couldn't find the drive, they would be just in time to board the same ship that Crawford did six months ago.

"Can you describe it, sir?" the woman behind the counter asked, adjusting her horn-rimmed glasses with one hand, her nails painted dim red in color.

"It's a small USB drive. Black, with a white scorpion on top." Fletcher said. "There's also an obvious scratch on the surface."

"How long ago did you say you lost it?"

"Ah, about six months ago," grimaced Fletcher. "I was on vacation when I lost it, but when I realized, I was already on a different continent."

"Well," her tone was regretful. "All of our lost items are sent off to a larger central past two months. It's so that we will have space for more recent items. But I can check if it's ever been logged in our database."

"Please, that would be _great_. Thank you."

The woman turned to her computer and her fingers began moving across the keyboard. Alex glanced at Fletcher. Please _and_ thank you? A bit of an overkill, but hey, Matthew Jackson was a very concerned tourist looking for an USB drive important to him. Overkill was acceptable.

"You said black with a white scorpion?"

"Yes."

"I'm sorry, we don't have records of anything resembling," she shook her head but tilted her screen to give them a list of pictures of drives in the database. "Are any of these yours?"

Fletcher glanced at them before shaking his head. "No."

"I'm sorry, it must not have been turned it in here."

"Thanks anyway."

They ran through two more with the same result: nothing, sorry sir, not in the database, zero, nada, zilch. Neither of them had really expected it to be easy, that the drive would just be passed through the counter gift-wrapped like a Christmas present, but Alex was disappointed, to say the least.

In compensation, Fletcher had decided to grab a quick late lunch before they went scouting out the ship to find a way to sneak in. Preferably, Fletcher would have wanted a lack of trails on the flight to San Francisco, but it was inevitable. However, for a cruise ship, they could easily sneak on with a little bit of vetting.

"So," Alex said through a mouthful of sandwich. "Are you gonna take over Scorpia with the drive? When you find it, of course. Hostage ransom? Give me the crown, or die with the drive?"

Fletcher was twirling his french fries in a pool of crimson ketchup. Truth be told, Alex had never been a fan of ketchup or tomato sauce. "Something like that."

That was equivalent to dead wrong. Oh well. "Why do you want to take over so badly?"

"Everybody wants power."

"Not everybody," Alex corrected as he slurped on his coke. "Some people just want peace."

"You can't have peace without power," emphasized Fletcher with a french fry. "Some are born to be leaders and others followers. Don't force a follower to be a leader, nor a leader to a follower."

Sounded like a public speaking nightmare. "You really want to lead a bunch of assassins that much?"

"Better lead than be led. The Boss has an unpredictable temper that's bad for all of us. The sooner he's gone, the better."

If that were the case, wouldn't there be a larger force backing Fletcher? What was one man against an organization of assassins? Why hadn't they? Were they looking for a leader to lead them?

"C'mon," Fletcher stood up, threw their unfinished food and trash into the garbage and stacked the trays neatly on top of the other ones. "Let's go. Time's wasting."

"Know what was wasted?" grumbled Alex as he followed suit. "My hamburger."

"And my patience, so it seems."

" _Touche_."

The ship they were watching minutes later was part of a cruise line commercial business that had vessels sailing the nearby sea since who knew when. Benjamin Crawford did not have a fixed ship but rather transferred between ships for his area of expertise was necessary for many of the vessels.

"Crawford was a medic," said Fletcher as they leaned against the railing watching the white ship in sight. "Self-taught, if I'm correct. He even saved quite a few lives a few cruises back when the landing failed."

"Landing failed?"

"Hatch opened right into the water."

"Ouch."

"Every cruise ship around here is always in need of first-aid personnel," Fletcher leaned forward, hands clasped in front.

"You want us to pass as medics?"

"Partially. If Crawford was a medic aboard this ship, we need to become one to follow his paths. But we don't want to be identifiable, so we are still sneaking in."

"How? Stuffed inside suitcases?"

"Through the front door of course." Fletcher pushed himself off the railing to his feet. "C'mon, let's go. The sooner we get in, the lesser chance of us getting caught."

The assassin turned and headed to the ship.

Alex followed.


	23. Well, What Do You Want

Sometimes when Wolf woke in the middle of the night in cold sweat, he would wonder if today was a good day to hand in his resignation and officially leave the soldier part of him behind. He knew his line of work was dangerous and that attack from all sides would be inevitable, but nobody had told him that one of these battles would be against his own teammate.

When Fox left for MI6, Cougar had been assigned to their team as the new comm expert. That man was quick on his feet and able to think of solutions to pretty much any problem—which made his betrayal all the more confusing. Cougar had chosen to side with their enemy. Of course, Wolf understood that—despite the short time Cougar had spent undercover trying to find a way in, the comm expert had sort of bonded with the leader—but what he could not understand was why Cougar chose to point his gun at them, his own _teammates_.

Wolf grunted, rolled over, and sat up at the edge of the bed. Like _hell_ he was going to quit. If he did, Cougar would win and that was the last thing Wolf wanted. But Eagle was right. Wolf needed to call Snake and let the medic know that killing Cougar was inevitable and nobody but Cougar was to blame.

"Hey," Snake answered on the third ring.

"We need to talk."

The pause in the air, spanning the distance of half of the world, engulfed the room like a chasm. Wolf waited, wondering if his tone had betrayed the solemness or the lingering anger he harbored.

"I did what I had to do, so Wolf, if all you want to say for the umpteenth time is that I should—"

Wolf breathed in. "I'm sorry."

"...Come again?"

"I'm sorry."

There was a long moment of silence, then, "Wolf, are you _drunk-dialing_ me?"

"Really, Snake?" Wolf growled, a bit irritated at his apology being made light of by the man on the other end of the phone. "That's all you're going to say?"

His further irritation, however, was extinguished by the sound of soft chuckles. The medic was laughing. Somehow, that brought a quick quirk to Wolf's lips as well. Finally, Snake found his composure again and his tone suddenly grew serious. "Wolf."

"...Yeah?"

I know," said the medic slowly. "That Cougar was like a brother to you, to all of us, and _none_ of us expected what happened." A sharp intake of a rattled breath. "God I wish I never had to—"

"You did what you had to do, didn't you?" Wolf said, carefully not betraying the clenching of his jaw in his tone. Not right now, Snake. Not right now.

"Yeah, yeah. I did, but it's just…" A sigh, then a different topic altogether. "I'm medically fit for duty so I'll be back within the week. What 'bout you?"

"We're fine. Eagle's been itching to get back to field duty, but," Wolf paused, pondering the best way to tell Snake about their current situation. "We might have a problem at the moment."

"...A fourth man?" Snake immediately asked. They were down a man, but that wasn't exactly what Wolf had in mind. "I'm sure the sergeant will assign us a new comm guy."

"Yeah, that's not exactly what I'm talking about."

"Enlighten me."

"We're in the middle of a case."

"Ah," Snake said. "You haven't quit the police."

"No," agreed Wolf. "I haven't."

"So what's the case?"

"Our target is an assassin. He kidnapped one of my ex-officers."

"Anything I can help with?"

"Your insights might help, and more manpower wouldn't hurt."

"Alright. I'll meet you back at my house in a couple of days. I hope it's still intact?"

Wolf softly snorted. "No worries, Eagle kept it safe for you."

" _Eagle_ of all people?"

"He's one helluva sentimental person."

The unit leader could almost hear the shake of the medic's head in mock resignation. "I'm sure. Anyway, I'll let you go back to whatever you were doing. And Wolf?"

"What?"

"It's great hearing your voice."

Wolf hated the sincerity behind the medic's tone. Snake really thought Wolf had forgiven him for killing Cougar, but he was far from that.

Or was he?

The unit leader hesitated. "Yeah."

Wolf ended the call first, not wanting Snake to ask about the trailing hesitance in his voice at that one word. Goddammit. He could almost see Eagle rolling his eyes and saying, _make up your mind already_.

Yeah. Perhaps he would—just, not right now.

* * *

"Judging by Mr. Crawford's travel record," said Fletcher, leaning against the wall of the fancy interior with one hand scrolling through his phone and the other absently adjusting the collar of his fake uniform. "He did not make any stop on this cruise. It was a one-way trip from San Francisco to the second port along the coast. 6 hours."

"You think he might've hidden the drive somewhere on this ship?" Alex asked as he felt around the uncomfortably restricting bow tie of the waiter's outfit.

"If he didn't leave it at the port, it's possible."

Fletcher slipped his phone into his pocket as they spotted another waiter coming down the hall. Quickly, Fletcher intercepted him with a light-hearted _hey_.

"Gary, is it?" the assassin asked, sounding too cheerful to be possible.

"Yeah. Wassup?" Gary paused in his steps, his name badge flashing under the illuminated hall. "You're the temporary medic, right?"

"I am and, uh, I was wondering if you can show me where Ben's locker is? I need to clean it out and get his ring back to his family."

"Ben?"

"Oh, I'm sorry. Benjamin. He's my best mate." At the lack of recognition, Fletcher tried again. "Benjamin Crawford? He used to work here as a medic, but he passed away a few days ago and I just wanted to get everything back to his family."

"I'm actually new, just started a few days ago," Gary admitted with a grimace. "I'm sorry, I don't know anybody really. But if you want, I can show you the staffs' locker? If he's worked here for a while, he might have his own locker."

"That'd be great!"

Alex busied himself with looking professional as Gary and Fletcher walked past him down the hall. He was tempted to follow. While he didn't like spending too much time around Fletcher, Alex hated being stranded alone in a fancy high-class cruise ship even more. Who in their goddamn right mind would want to eat atop an ocean? Perhaps there was something to these etiquettes, much like the diamond auction, that he was missing. Although that lack of appreciation equaled fewer things to trouble his troubled minds. Honestly, it was a great bargain.

"Hey you," someone barked at him from behind.

Alex smoothly turned. "Yes?"

"I don't know _why_ you think we pay you to watch the ocean, but let me kindly remind you that that is not your job. Here's a platter." The silver-colored plate was thrust into his empty hands and Alex glanced up to watch the harsh lines on the supervisor. "The floor can definitely use more hands."

"Of course." He tried a light-hearted chuckle, nervousness betraying his tone anyway. "I just need, you know, a few minutes to ease out my…lungs."

Dammit, Fletcher. What was he supposed to do without the assassin? If he left, how would Fletcher know where he went? Alex frowned suspiciously. Was this Fletcher's plan all along? Abandon him on a ship as a sick prank?

"Do as I say, or I swear I will make the rest of your evening more miserable than you can _ever_ imagine."

Jeez, meanie. Fine. _Gosh_. "Right on it, mate." He nodded with enthusiasm he was far from feeling. " _To the floor I go._ "

To be honest, Alex had no idea where anything was, and it was only by following some senior-looking server that he managed to at least distinguish between sprite and martini—one has bubbles, the other did not. A smart move, actually, for he would hate to ingest alcohol when all he asked for was some flavored carbon dioxide.

Perhaps he should go find Fletcher soon. _Or_ maybe not, on second thought. Fletcher was better at finding people than Alex would ever be. In the meantime, he could use the alone time and do some of his own investigations.

Now, where would a seemingly good Samaritan store a stolen (not stolen, per se, but close enough) USB drive? These were times when he wished life was nothing more than a series of multiple choice questions. Multiple questions without choice E 'none of the above', of course. Alex shuddered—he'd had too many of those nightmare choice E's to last a _millennium_.

With ease, Alex sauntered over the milling crowds. The tray balanced on the tip of his fingers was light with only the weight of a few flat snack trays, a far cry from the delicately balanced wine-glasses his fellow servers held.

A body nearly ran him over, its owner's drunken tone slurred in a barely-understood question. "Dance with me?"

Alex nervously chuckled. "Afraid I can't, ma'am, don't want to ruin this lovely evening by bruising your feet."

And her ego, really, seeing that two more steps would introduce her to the flourished carpet.

"Oh, well, that's…"

At the right moment, her clear-headed companion grabbed her by her arm to prevent her from face-planting and offered Alex a grim smile. Then she was being guided, more or less hauled, back the way she came.

Alex sighed, praying the night to be over already.

Maybe Fletcher had been wrong. Maybe what they were looking for was closer to home than they thought. After all, Crawford might have been at the wrong place at the wrong time, but he certainly had enough common sense to know that people were after him for something.

Was it possible that Crawford already knew what they were after him for?

Was it possible that his wife, Beck, knew as well? How much can a husband hide from his wife when they lived under the same roof?

A lot, apparently, Alex thought dryly. But so little at the same time. He should've asked Beck directly when he had the chance, instead of prodding and stepping around the sensitive topic. Had he been wrong to do so? _Perhaps_. Looking back, he supposed there _had_ been better choices.

But there was no point what so ever crying over spilled milk. He just had to, you know, _scrape_ up the dried milk, add some water, and hope his client wouldn't notice. Some people could be awfully blind when it came down to that.

If Fletcher's little venture on the ship turned out to be naught, Alex would suggest they take a break and call Beck. Maybe they just needed a little longer to search through the house. Or asked more of the right questions because life was just a scarier interactive video game.

Somehow, Alex felt like they were missing something.

 _Jeez,_ Alex, what _could_ they be missing? Oh right, the USB drive—you know, the objective?

Alex groaned in irritation. God, was it possible to hate oneself from a third-person's perspective? Because that was exactly what Alex felt at the moment. He shook his head, slapping himself mentally. Focus, Alex. Focus.

He didn't make much progress before Fletcher found him. "Dead end. Anything from you?"

"Platter goes on your fingertips, not your palm," said Alex dryly, balancing the metal plate on his hand in emphasis.

"Anything _relevant_?"

"Nope."

"Alright," Fletcher said, glancing around almost anxiously. "The ship—"

"But I have a thought." Unapologetically, Alex interrupted. "Maybe I should talk to Beck again."

"What for?"

"I dunno. I mean, I haven't really asked her everything. Maybe we can learn more if we directly ask her, instead of snooping around."

Fletcher blinked, an argument clearly on the tip of his tongue. "Alright."

"Why not? I know that we could've done something more with that," said Alex, trying to convince the man. "Remember, she said that on the night Benjamin died, there was—"

"I said alright."

"Yes, I know but—oh, I thought you said no."

"Paranoid?"

" _'Course_ not. It was intuitions."

Their searches eventually turning up fruitless, Fletcher and Alex decided to enjoy the rest of the cruise as much as they could. The ship gently tossed them up with the waves, then down, but so subtle that if he weren't watching the loops of the water he wouldn't be able to tell the differences. Near the skylines, where the dim purple merged quietly with the black, city lights flickered on like early Christmas and stayed on into the night.

Ever since he was young, Alex always thought his place was in Liverpool. He didn't have much of a dream, and everything was just another task, another job, to make his father happy. But Ian wanted him to be something more. Something more than the scrawny teen, something more harmful than Alex wanted to be.

Alex sighed, running a hand through his hair.

His uncle often took him shooting. At first, at poles and wooden fences. Then small games, mice, rabbits, birds. They took down a bear once, in the grazing field when he was years younger. Alex had always thought his father and his uncle couldn't be more different. One was the aloof parent, and the other a stern relative who seemed to care more about Alex than his father had. That wasn't as positive as he thought it would be.

Alex didn't know his uncle and his father worked together, not until that fateful day he went inside to deliver Fletcher's message: abort or he dies. It was hard to forget how close he had been to dying, ungracefully dangling off the flag pole like some sort of traitor to the country.

Ian had always wanted him to serve his country, and it was that innate need of his uncle that led to Alex taking his first life. A _kid_ , the wrong place, the wrong time, siding with the wrong people. God he wished he hadn't…

Alex shook his head.

Their ship reached port at the brightest time of the night. Midnight, where sky burned with artificial lights and the distant stars began to merge with the twinkling city sparks. They signed off on their sheet, made some generic farewells to their temporary coworkers, and slipped out with the crowd.

"Did she tell you where she was headed?" Fletcher asked as they walked into the fast-food restaurant to grab a quick bite.

"Beck? No, she just said she wanted to get out."

"Do you at least have her number?"

"No, but I know who does."

Fletcher eyed him, eyes staying a little longer before he clicked. "If you're gonna say Claire, I swear…"

"You swear…? You're just afraid to talk to Yassen, aren't you?"

" _No_." A little _too_ defensive there, Fletcher. "I don't want them to track us down."

"Well, they said they were going to help us."

"You shouldn't trust Yassen," Fletcher said hesitantly.

"You never told me why."

Fletcher glanced at the menu, and to anybody else's eyes, he looked torn between choosing burgers with a side of fries or chicken nuggets with an 8 oz. coke.

"Yassen is not on anybody's side, Alex. He works for nobody but himself. People motivated by self-interests are the most dangerous ones out there. They don't care who gets hurt as long as they get what they want. To them, the end justifies the means."

Alex bit his lips, shaking his head when the man behind the counter asked if he wanted a soda. "And you?"

"Me?"

"Well, aren't you motivated by self-interests as well? Does what you said apply to _just_ him? Does the end justify the mean for you?"

"Well, it's a question of perspective." Fletcher's tone was careful as his fingers drummed along the counter. "Do you think that's who I am, Alex?"

"...No." Alex paused. "Yes…Maybe. I dunno."

Fletcher paid with the exchanged currency and took their tray. "Think about it then. Tell me when you have an answer. In the meantime, why don't you give Claire a call?"

Wasn't the man just objecting to that moments ago? "You sure?"

"Yeah, better do it now than never." Fletcher tossed him his burner phone and he caught it squarely.

"You make it sound so ominous," Alex muttered, began entering the number he had vaguely memorized since his first meeting with Claire.

"Well, who knows how long she will live." The assassin shrugged nonchalantly, biting into his hamburger. "Yassen doesn't leave civilians alive when he's done. This game that Scorpia organized, this ploy for citizenship and power, it's all going to shambles. Now that the boss is sending half the agents after me, the game is almost as good as done. Yassen isn't going to win anything, and the girl will only be a liability."

A strange touch of annoyance flared up Alex's tone. "I don't think Yassen is like that. He might be called an assassin, but he isn't as cold-blooded as you think he is."

"I've known him for almost five long years now. Trust me, I know exactly who he is, and who he isn't."

" _You_ are the one who chose to think of him as a monster." The last few digits still missing, Alex lowered the phone unconsciously with a frown. "That's not how friends work."

"We aren't friends."

"But you two were close. You even called him brat—"

"брат." Fletcher corrected him.

"Yeah, brat. Isn't that what I said?"

"брат is Russian."

"Russian?" Alex blinked, intrigued. "For what?"

"...Brother." Fletcher begrudgingly admitted, eyes glinting as he sipped his coke. "брат means brother."

"See, you _were_ close. What happened?"

"Nothing."

"That's impossible."

Fletcher glanced at him as if he was stupid. "Distance estranges people, you of all people should know that."

"Don't know what you mean."

"Your father. You two were close—"

"Don't change the topic, and we still are."

Fletcher arched an eyebrow and said nothing, leaving Alex to reassess his words.

It had been months now since he last saw his father. This half a year had changed him by folds. It made him do things he never would've done if his father had been there when he needed him. Alex wouldn't be living under a falsified name, Tom wouldn't be his partner-in-crime—although Tom probably would still have become his partner anyway—and he wouldn't be running across the world with an assassin.

"Well, love conquers all, doesn't it?" Alex said after a while.

"He's always traveling, going to places, leaving you with caretakers or your uncle. Do you still love him the way you used to?"

"Of course, he's my fa—my dad." Alex paused, eyes narrowing. "And _how_ do you know all that?"

"I did my research."

Alex took a sip of his soda before the warmth could steal away its coldness. "I don't know what you're trying to do, but it's not working."

"I'm not trying to do anything, Alex. I just thought you should know the truth." Fletcher sighed. "Remember the CD disk I gave you before our partnership? That's the truth and you saw it; your father's death at the hand of Scorpia on that bridge."

"How could I not." Alex's hands clenched. "If I didn't know that my father is alive, I'd have believed it. That is your game, isn't it? You used my father to pull me into all this, and now you're using him again to…I don't know."

Alex made a noise of frustration, much to Fletcher's amusement.

"I used your father to bring you into this, but it's not him that you're following me for, is it?"

Alex fell silent, then weakly, he said. "You promised to bring me to him, at the end of all this."

"I did." To Alex's surprise, a glint of almost-regret flashed across the man's features. "And it's not too late to back out."

Alex snorted. "Believe whatever you want, Fletcher, but that's the _only_ thing I want and trust me when I say I will hold you to it."


	24. There and Back

Winter was like a soft creeping polar bear, melting into the snow and leaving the people wondering whether or not it was gone. It was cold, yet the budding of spring was beginning to sprout on the thin tree branches. Dead leaves had long eroded away. In their place, black scars lingered. Inside, a gradual fog had settled over the clear window of the fast-food restaurant. A child doodled over it, much to her father's disapproval.

Alex held the phone to his ear and listened to the sound of it trying to reach Claire. Thankfully, she picked up before it could go into the voicemail.

"Hello?"

"Claire, it's me."

"Harry!"

"Yeah," Alex said with a grimace. "Sorry I didn't call earlier."

"I'd say no worries, but that'd be the fattest lie I've ever told today. But that aside, are you okay? We're all kinda worried."

"We?"

"Well, me, really, since Yassen's thinking that Fletcher might've killed you already."

"...Thanks. I'm doing fine. Still alive, breathing, and not murdered."

"No problem. So why did you call?"

"I need your help; there's this phone number that I need to find."

"Whose?"

"Beck Crawford."

"The poor lady? You're gonna harass her again?"

"It's not harassing. It's showing _concern_ for her welfare."

" _Right_."

Skepticism heavy, Claire gave him the number anyway. The area number was still the same. Claire told him it was possible that Beck wasn't using that one anymore but it was, however, the most recent one she could find. Perhaps Beck didn't move far. After all, she didn't have much currency on her and the house had yet to be bought. Grimly, Alex wondered if she was at least warm and somewhere under a sturdy roof.

Beck picked up on the sixth ring. Alex almost missed it because Fletcher was loudly crinkling the wrappers on the other end of the short table.

"Hello?" she asked softly.

"Hey, um, it's Mayford again. Harry Mayford. You remember me?"

"Mayford…Yeah. Yeah, I do. You helped me."

"Yeah, and I was wondering if I can ask you something? It's about the case I'm, was, working on."

"Um..." She paused. "Okay."

Alex nodded when Fletcher's inquisitive eyes landed on him. She was willing, all right, but she hadn't heard the question yet. It really wasn't too late to back out, Alex thought. Beck didn't want to go back to her past, and anybody with a shred of basic human decency should know not to bother her with it.

"We believe that your husband Benjamin had a USB drive in his possession prior to his death. It's black with a scratch on it." Alex looked at Fletcher for confirmation and the assassin dipped his head by a fraction. "His death is very much related to the drive. Have you seen it around?"

"I…" Silence settled over the line.

"Please. It's important. If we don't find it, more people will die."

"It's…complicated. Can we meet somewhere?" There was weary caution in her voice that had dropped to a whisper. "He said it's important that nobody else knows so that we stay safe, but…I can trust you, right?"

"Who's ' _he'_?"

"Can you meet me at the corner 'round my old house? Tomorrow at three? I will wait for you."

Alex tried to do his mental math, but he failed at the timezone difference. At the assassin, he asked quietly if they were able to make it back to Liverpool by then. A flicker of the man's eyes was all that was visible of his calculation. Fletcher nodded in affirmation. They would, with time to spare.

Was the man born with an internal set of world analog? Jeez.

"Yeah, that works. I'll see you there."

Unsurprisingly, Alex found himself on a plane bound for Liverpool before the hour's end. Beside him, reclined in the chair, Fletcher was awfully quiet and, if anything, disgruntled at something. Alex wondered if it had anything to do with him not finding the USB at the lost and found. Was it possible for assassins to get emotionally stressed when things weren't going their way? Mm. Very likely.

Alex turned to watch the window. Outside, the wings of the plane sliced unevenly through the puffs of clouds. The horizon was an endless stretch of blue and white, and the ground beneath was too far away to make out any details besides the mottled dark green and brown. He reached over and shut the window by sliding down the shield.

That earned him Fletcher's fleeting attention. Unintentional, but convenient.

"What you brooding about?" asked Alex offhandedly, shifting to settle into a more comfortable position.

"I'm not brooding."

"C'mon, you're scowling."

"That's my resting face."

"Yeah right. You know you can tell me anything, right? I won't tell anybody else; it's not like I have anybody to tell anyway."

Fletcher spared him a withering glance. "I'm thinking about the best way to murder you and dump your body without anybody's knowledge."

How utterly unprofessional of the assassin to broadcast his intentions. The woman next to Fletcher shot him a horrifying glance, scooting her arm closer to herself in alarm. Alex grinned easily at her. "Fletcher _loves_ to joke. I assure you he means no harm. He's harmless like a bee. You know, they buzz around you and you're afraid they're gonna sting. But if they sting you, they're gonna die as well."

If anything, the woman looked even more uncomfortable.

Well, Alex tried.

Deciding that Fletcher was about as uncooperative as a bee, Alex chose to sit back in his seat to catch some shut-eye. The assassin would talk of murdering him in his sleep, but Alex highly doubted that Fletcher would _ever_ do anything like that. They were friends, weren't they? They had a deal. With the unsettling thoughts drawing waves in his subconscious, Alex fell fast asleep.

Unbeknown to him, Fletcher's piercing gaze eyed his young companion critically.

* * *

Snake was scheduled to return tomorrow, and even Fox, who had been constantly frowning the past few days, cracked a small smile at the news from Wolf. Sitting at the table and nursing a cup of freshly brewed coffee, Wolf wondered if Fox would consider rejoining their unit when all of this was over. He took a cautious sip as he watched Eagle dishing out the toasts. The coffee was bitter and faintly diluted.

"Come by the headquarter today," said Fox suddenly as he took the proffered toast. "We have something to show you."

"We?"

"Agent Rider and I."

"About what?"

"Resources." The spy shrugged. "Our ears on the ground and a few thoughts we had. It might help your search if you know more about Agent Rider's mission."

"His mission? What does it have to do with Mayford?"

"Drop by later and we'll give you as much information as you need." Fox bit off the rest of his toast and downed it with a large gulp of his coffee. "Gotta run. Give me a call when Snake gets in."

"He isn't due till tomorrow."

"I know, but you know me—"

"You're probably not gonna even come back home till tomorrow because of blah blah blah espionage paperwork." Eagle supplied with a roll of his eyes. "Got it, Foxy boy."

The spy rushed out the door after hastily pulling on his shoes. Wolf watched him go, wondering what the spy wanted to show him later. Agent Rider was a strange man and Wolf still felt himself hesitate around the seasoned spy. It wasn't that he didn't trust the man as a spy, he just didn't trust the man as a father. What kind of _father_ would do that to their child?

Wolf thought about Mayford—Alex's—file. His mother, Helen Rider, had died in a plane explosion. Given the year and Mayford's real age, he couldn't have been more than a few months old. Maybe it was this lack of maternal protection that forcefully guided Mayford to pursue a lifestyle so similar to his father's. Mayford seemed like a good kid.

Yeah, a kid. That was all he was. But then, age was never the judge for a person's innocence. Mayford was already too much of a chaotic mess to be called a kid.

"Good news," said Eagle, bringing Wolf out of his troubled mind. "I found Mrs. Beck Crawford's number—actually, Fox did. He just texted it to me. I'm gonna call her, see if we can arrange a meeting or something."

Wolf nodded. "Don't give her too much. Just tell her that it's police business and it's urgent."

"Gotcha." Eagle dialed, putting it on speaker.

She was quick on picking up her phone as if it was nearby. The tone barely reached the fullest of the first drone before a woman's voice answered.

"Mrs. Crawford?"

"...Yes? Who are you?"

"This is North Highland police department. We're wondering if you're still in town? If you are, we'd like to have a chat with you. It won't take long."

"I, I already agreed. Why are you asking me again? Was there…a problem?"

Eagle glanced at Wolf who shook his head. Wasn't him.

"I'm sorry, ma'am, but what do you mean by you already agreed?"

"He called yesterday." She paused, voice faint. "He said it has to do with my husband. He was, he was one of your men."

Wolf wasn't aware of anybody else being assigned the Crawford case just yet. A frown burrowed itself deeper on his face.

"Who's 'he'?"

"Mayford, that's his name. He came by a few times before."

"Mayford?" Wolf narrowed his eyes, not believing their luck—two birds in one stone.

"...Is something wrong? He did work for you, right? We agreed to meet today at 3."

"No, nothing's wrong. Where are you meeting?"

"Just down the corner of my old house. Um, is there something…I should know?"

"Everything's just fine. We just weren't aware that Mayford had already reached out to you. Now that that's settled, thank you for your time, Mrs. Crawford."

"Oh, not at all."

As soon as the call ended, Eagle turned to Wolf with a grin. "Looks like we don't have to go west anymore."

"Why would they be back so soon? It's been barely half a week."

"Their search probably turned up fruitless. Maybe they found a lead in Mrs. Crawford." Eagle then paused as a thought came into mind. "Do you think we should have a talk with her before they do? Find out what she knows."

"No, it might set them off. Best we let them meet up, follow them, and see if we can get them all into custody." Wolf squinted at the digital clock on the phone's screen. "I'm going to meet up with Fox and let him know. You comin'?"

"No, I was thinking about scouting out the rendezvous. Make sure our trio don't get shot while having tea, ya know. But call me when you're done?"

Wolf nodded, grabbed his things, and left.

He met up with Fox in the lobby of MI6 headquarters. The foot traffic in the brightly lit bank was lacking, but the peace and quiet overcompensated the lost. The man behind the counter, undoubtedly another agent, gestured behind him and told him Agent Daniels was down at the lounge waiting. Personally, Wolf had never liked the dark red interior of the bank.

Fox and Agent Rider was by the sofa, chatting in a decibel too low to be carried past their circle. They glanced up when Wolf entered.

"Fox, Agent Rider," he greeted.

"Wolf," Fox said, inviting him to take a seat and getting right to the point. "How well do you know Esonob?"

"The street gang?" Wolf frowned as he took a seat. "They were caught in a few robberies before, and one of the members was found dead next to Benjamin Crawford. Nothing concrete or extensive, but if you're suggesting that they have some ties with Scorpia, I won't disagree. After all, they nearly killed Mayford and Fletcher. "

"Quite the contrary, actually," Agent Rider said. "They work for me."

"... _Excuse_ me?"

Agent Rider tried to reassure Wolf's agitated alarm. "No, I did _not_ order a hit on my son and the assassin. It was done by somebody else if that's what you're concerned about."

"It took place inside one of the gang's hideouts. I fail to see how it's not related to the gang."

"It was not done by any of them, that I can swear to you." The calm tone of the agent was barely disturbed despite Wolf's accusations. "The group and I, we have an agreement; I help them with their food and drug thefts, in return, they spy for me. They're good people, despite what they do."

"And the man who got killed? Morrison? Did he get tangled up in it and get killed as a result of doing your business?"

Agent Rider leaned back, an irked expression fleetingly marked his smooth feature. "His death was unfortunate but it was not entirely our fault. He went against my orders to visit Mr. Crawford and that resulted in them both being killed."

"You sound like you don't care."

Fox shot Wolf a warning glance, but Agent Rider brushed off Wolf's tone with a regretful smile. "I do, Wolf, I do care a lot. Cross was a brother and a friend to many of us. His death was meaningless, something I don't wish upon the worst of my enemies."

Wolf sat back. "Meaningless? What did he intend to get out of the meeting?"

"I suspect he became too attached to the Crawfords and their innocence. He was adamant in making sure that they both stayed safe, probably went to meet them to arrange a transfer to a safer location. Empathy had, after all, always been mankind's weakness. I just wish I had warned him earlier."

Fox spoke up. "Look, Wolf, what I called you here today for is more than to let you know that you have street resources available. Agent Rider and I have discussed that Cross Morrison might have done something more than just conversing with the Crawfords. It's possible that they entrusted the USB with him."

"What? But he was killed. By _Scorpia_. If he had it, they would have found it." Wolf frowned.

"What if they, hypothetically, missed it? Where next will it go?"

"Locked up in the belongings until members of their family claim it." Wolf shook his head. "I remember going through the locker myself since it was a double homicide. Even if Scorpia somehow missed it, I don't recall any USB drives in the evidence locker."

Agent Rider paused. "Who were the officers in charge of the scene and the belongings?"

"...That'd be Mayford. I assigned him to that case. I doubt that he was the one who took it, or else Fletcher wouldn't be running around still chasing for it."

"Who else had access to the items?"

Not liking the tone nor the direction it was going, Wolf interjected. "I might not have worked with the officers in my precinct for a very long time, but I trust every single one of them. If you're suggesting that it's an inside job—"

"That's not what we're saying."

"Sure sounds like it."

" _Wolf,_ " Fox warned.

Agent Rider waved him off. "But what about a sub? Or a new officer? Anybody who had access to the case, however brief, but was not fully vetted by you."

"Nobody."

"You sure?"

Wolf shifted in his seat, deciding to humor the agents for a bit. Getting worked up over allies won't get them anywhere closer, especially when it sounded like they had something sort-of concrete going on.

"We got the call about two bodies at the Eastland Intersection," Wolf began. "That's an infamous dump site for suicides and murders. Seeing that Mayford had a connection with Benjamin Crawford, one that _you_ facilitated, I handed him that case. Besides him, the first ones on the scene, and me, there was nobody else who had access to the bodies or belongings. Nobody had accessed the locker beside us; I checked the logs."

"What 'bout coroners? Medics? Or perhaps the drive fell out of Cross's pockets when somebody moved him and it went unnoticed."

"Well." Wolf frowned. "There was a temporary examiner handling the case. A, uh, I can't remember his name but Mayford made a stupid pun about it…Rough. Something Rough. Casey? Kevin? Cole? _Colin_. Yeah, his name was Colin. Colin Rough."

Fox shook his head with no recognition and Agent Rider mirrored his expressions. "How did he get into the case? Is he trustworthy?"

"He's from the downtown department if I remember. He was a substitute for the examiner Chris who was out sick that day. You think it might be him?"

"Worth a try. We'll try to track him down. In the meantime, let's keep looking for Mayford."

"Alex," Agent Rider corrected Fox.

"Speaking of him," clearing his throat, Wolf said. "Mayford—Alex—and Fletcher are meeting with Mrs. Crawford this afternoon at 3."

Fox and Agent Rider glanced at him in surprise. "They came back? How did you know? Why are you letting us know just now?"

"We called Mrs. Crawford, wanting to arrange our own meet-up. She was the one who told us about it." Wolf purposefully chose to ignore the last question. "Eagle and I are going to watch. We're planning to grab them as soon as we can."

An agitated Agent Rider shifted in his seat. "I'd like to be there."

Fox, however, thought otherwise. "I think it's best if you're not, John. Your presence will have a large influence on Mayford, and with an assassin around, we don't need any new unstable variables."

"I don't follow, Ben, and in any case, he's my son."

"You might make him irrational. After all, what you did was pretty horrible." Wolf couldn't help but sardonically explain. "We need him to be clear-minded and rational. He might be willing to talk and join our side."

Agent Rider frowned. "I really don't think—"

"Just let Wolf handle this one. You'll have plenty of time to talk to him afterward, alright?" Fox coaxed softly.

Against his wishes, Agent Rider sat back and nodded grimly. "Fine, but as soon as you have them, you let me know."

Wolf didn't have time to make any promises before the sound of his phone ringing pierced the crafted stillness of the lobby. He glanced at the screen. It was from the precinct.

"Yes?"

"Commander." The voice was rustled with static and urgency. "There's an active shooting down at the public plaza. Seven casualties reported so far and we have eyes on two of your targets. One of them's wounded."

"My targets?" What in the world…?

"Claire Chester and Yassen Gregorovich. The girl's been shot. They've moved inside the building now and we counted half a dozen shooters. They seem to be aiming for the two. How should we proceed?"

" _Bloody hell_. Take care of the civilians. That's your priority. I'll be there shortly."

"Yessir."

Fox glanced at him in concern. "What happened?"

"Active shooting at the public plaza. Yassen Gregorovich and the girl is on the scene. Shooters must be Scorpia agents." Wolf told them in a rush as he stood.

"I'm going with you," said Agent Rider abruptly.

This time, neither stopped him as they rushed for their car.


	25. Red

The world was never inherently bad nor inherently good but rather, an incoherent mix of the two. Even the evildoers, Wolf thought, had reasons. However, part of being SAS was to overcome these kinds of thoughts. Erase any sentiments he might have toward his targets because one second of hesitation equaled ten more lives lost. Did that make him less human? Yes, but the remorse and guilt that plagued him afterward reminded him of his humanity.

Wolf shook himself out of his thoughts as he ducked and raced into the building. Although the sniper fire had ceased for the moment, Wolf wasn't going to let his guard down. He already had four officers down and nine civilian casualties. And it's only been five _goddamn_ minutes.

"John!" shouted Fox behind him in warning. The agent broke into a run from the car and skid to a stop next to Wolf behind the cover of the walls. A sudden rush of gunfire created a dented trail behind him.

"I'm going with you," said Agent Rider, a hand around the handle of his gun. "I know Gregorovich."

Wolf grunted. "What are you going to do?"

"Let me go in and talk to him. He knows me. I can get him and the girl out."

They had visual on Gregorovich and Claire for a brief moment on the second floor but the snipers, undoubtedly from Scorpia, were pinning all of them down. If they moved fast enough, they might be able to go in. Although if they were to end this quickly and without drawing more blood, they needed to locate the snipers.

"I spot three on the roof," said Agent Rider as if reading his mind. "But I heard at least one more."

"Why are they not moving in?"

"Gregorovich," said Agent Rider. "The girl might be shot, but Gregorovich isn't. Or even if he is, he's still a formidable opponent."

Wolf spared the agent a quick glance. "Personal experience?"

"...Something like that."

Wolf really didn't like the way the words sounded. _Something like that_ —it was about as vague as saying 'yes no maybe so' with a sprinkle of 'never going to tell you'. He grunted in irritation and shifted, trying to get a better look at the staircase leading to the second floor.

Agent Rider grabbed him back down as a bullet wheezed over his head, clanging against the metal pole a few meters behind them. Wolf swore.

"Do that again," said Agent Rider after a few seconds of silently waiting.

"Excuse me?"

"Draw their fire." Agent Rider explained. "I can take them out if I can confirm their location."

"It's too risky."

"C'mon, just a quick over-the-wall peek."

Wolf relented, pressing his forehead against the wall for a brief second. He then shot up and down like whack-a-moles. Two shots were heard, one narrowly blowing past his ear and the other brushing against his other ear, so close that he could feel the kiss of the metal against his skin. Infuriatingly, the latter was from Agent Rider who was standing upright, gun still out but a satisfied smile on his face.

"Gotcha," said the agent. The sound of a body and a gun collapsing onto the floor was heard from the staircase.

"You nearly blew my ear off!"

Agent Rider glanced at him as if surprised at the accusation. " _Nearly_."

"...I felt the bullet." Wolf felt almost defensive at the innocent tone.

"Don't worry. I'm good at this." The man waved his gun in emphasis. "Let's go."

They scaled the stairs two at the time quietly, guns drawn and eyes scanning the area. Agent Rider lacked the cohesion of an SAS unit member, but he managed surprisingly well in partner work. Wolf grabbed his radio as they reached the halfway landing.

"Anyone have visual on Gregorovich and Claire?" asked Wolf.

He waited for a brief second before he received a response. "Negative. They were last seen behind one of the vending counters on the second floor but we no longer have eyes on them."

"Copy that. Advancing."

As soon as they opened the door, gunfire pushed them back accompanied by the sound of glass breaking. The bullets must have come from the outside. The opposite building, perhaps, but just as dangerous.

"There's a marble counter on the right," said Agent Rider. "If we move fast enough, we can get behind cover alive."

Wolf nodded, setting a hand on the door handle again. "On three?"

He eased the door open by a small fraction when the agent affirmed. The small movement went unnoticed but Wolf knew that any more would immediately draw fire. He made eye contact with the agent on the right side of the door. Agent Rider nodded.

As he reached one, Wolf threw open the door abruptly. Agent Rider bent down and darted out sideways like a bullet from the chamber, tucking his legs in as he pulled himself the last few inches behind cover. Wolf counted five bullets buried in the wall and the floor between the door and the counter. The agent gave him a thumbs up.

Pushing the door out wide, Wolf followed suit. There was a surprising lack of fire as he landed heavily on the floor beside the agent. He glanced at what was visible of the large glass panel that was the window over the top of the counter. The glass at the edges was jagged and shattered. Scattered across the floor were shards of the translucent glass. Either he had managed to catch them off guard or the snipers were on the move.

"Let's go," muttered Wolf, a knee on the ground.

Agent Rider shushed him with a finger to his lip. "Did you hear that?"

Wolf stopped and listened. Breaking the silent afternoon air were short gasps of struggling breaths. Wolf didn't have extensive medical knowledge like Snake did but he could identify the punctured lung from where he knelt.

"Must be the girl," said Agent Rider softly. "Two o'clock."

"Gregorovich!" Wolf called out.

Something shifted on their right and Wolf ducked just in time to catch the glimpse of a gun. The silence produced only a short warning before the wall behind him splintered in unfriendly warning.

"We're here to help," said Agent Rider instead.

"...John?"

"Yeah."

Wolf didn't know what was the relationship between Agent Rider and Gregorovich, but if had he thought that the recognition would earn them access, he had thought wrong. Agent Rider barely managed to get out a shout of warning before bullets pummeled where their heads were seconds ago.

"We mean no harm! Let me see the girl, at the very least. She's been shot, right?"

The gun disappeared for a moment before the voice responded. "Fine."

They rounded the corner. Gregorovich was sitting with his back against the counter, the girl leaning heavily against him. Wolf knelt down beside her and took her pulse. It was slow and thready and he could count the integer seconds between each beat. Blood pooled around the floor beneath her and Gregorovich's hands were caked with blood. When the assassin shifted to greet Agent Rider, his hands left bloodied marks on the marble floor.

"You alright?" asked Agent Rider the assassin as Wolf gingerly maneuvered to check on the girl.

The assassin's cold gaze fixed on the agent's eyes without a response. When he spoke, however, it was to Wolf. "There's nothing you can do for her."

Wolf shook his head. "If we get her out now, we can save her."

"She's been shot in the leg and the chest. She's already lost too much blood."

"Don't rule her out like that," Wolf growled back as his hands flickered to her upper leg. The black of the tourniquet had blended in with her pants and Wolf had missed it, having been too focused on the chest wound. The fabric was already soaked when his hands fell upon it. Gregorovich was right. She had lost too much blood.

"...Ya…sen?" Claire croaked softly, blood trailing down her face as her hands shifted feebly in search for something.

The assassin turned and settled a quiet hand on hers. "It's alright. Close your eyes. Take a nap. I'll wake you later."

"I…I…" Under the shades of her eyelids, the browns were tightened in fear.

"It's alright," repeated the assassin. "You did well."

Just like that, the eyes became unfocused and when Wolf gingerly felt for her wrist again, he could no longer feel the beats. He sat back heavily.

"She did well," Gregorovich said, reaching over to close her eyes. "Let's go."

There was a sense of numbness accompanied by the way they just left her there, leaning against the counter in a pool of her own blood, eyes closed, and hands weakly outstretched as if grasping onto a string.

"All four snipers have been located," the radio blared to life. That was quick. "Unfortunately, two have fled the scene. The others had been shot and killed."

Wolf cleared his throat. "Let's round it up."

* * *

Alex and Fletcher met up with Beck at the corner cafe. The weather was agreeable with just enough sunshine to melt away the gloominess imposed by Fletcher. The clouds, however, were already drifting toward them. The road into the city had been blocked. Apparently, there had been a shooting in the plaza with thirteen casualties. Alex had tried calling Claire for some form of explanation but she wasn't picking up. Probably busy, he thought.

Beck quietly cleared her throat. "I, um, I knew I told you I didn't know anything about this drive you're looking for, but I do. I just want you to know that I didn't hide it because I don't want you to know. It's because I couldn't. I didn't know who to trust."

"It's alright," said Alex. "We understand."

"So you _do_ know where it is?"

"No, no I don't." She shook her head. "But I know who has it. Ben gave it to that man who came to our house. They went out that night and, and they never came back. And the next day, Ben…Ben was found dead."

"What man?" Alex asked although he had his guess.

"I don't know remember his name but." She swallowed. "He's the man that you showed me a photo of. You said he was found next to my husband's body. That's him."

"Cross Morrison?"

Beck nodded. "He promised that if we give the drive to him, we don't have to worry about it anymore. He said dangerous people were after it, so we gave it to him. We didn't want anything to do with it."

"Did he say what he was going to do with it?"

"What _can_ he do with it?" She shook her head. "I don't know. I just, I believed him when he said he'll help us. That's all I know, I'm sorry."

"No, that was extremely helpful," Fletcher said. "Thank you for your time."

Beck smiled. After she left, Alex turned to Fletcher. "Ha, see, the gang _is_ related to Scorpia. So we have the gang against Scorpia. You against Scorpia. That makes us and the gang friends, right? I mean, _besides_ their shooting you."

"No."

"No? Just…no?"

"No."

"...Okay. But can we still go ask them if they have the drive?"

"I doubt that. I know somebody in there. If they do have the drive, I would've known."

"...Right, but you still got shot."

Fletcher shot him a glance and promptly changed the subject. "Who else could've come in contact the drive between Crawford's meeting and him coming up dead? Did you find anything in the crime scene?"

"Nope. It was clean besides a card from Scorpia." Alex paused. "What if Cross had time to go somewhere before he was killed? What if Crawford and Cross weren't killed at the same place?"

Fletcher took his thoughts into consideration. "Where would he have gone?"

"Dunno, but maybe someplace to hide the drive for the moment."

"Someplace he's familiar with."

Alex nodded. "Maybe Sebastien would know. They did grow up together."

"Sebastien?"

"His brother." Also, the man who called Tom to confirm Alex as an officer. Good time. Alex sighed. "We should go have a talk with him."

Fletcher nodded. Seeing the agreement, Alex made to stand, but Fletcher waved him back down. "Hold on."

Alex sat back down, confused. "Something else?"

Above them, the sky rumbled slightly. The clouds ran over the sun and had begun to settle in. It was going to rain soon and Alex would rather be inside when it happened.

Fletcher leaned in slightly as if peering at the menu on the table. "There's a man behind you— _don't look_ , what are you, five?—a few tables down. He's been watching us for a while now. Undoubtedly, he knows us."

Alex paused, resisting the urge to disobey and look. "As in Scorpia-knows knows? Or creepy-dude-knows knows?"

"Not Scorpia." Fletcher shook his head. "I don't recognize him.

Alex angled his head slightly to sneak a glance. Who possibly—wait. He blinked then snapped his head back again. _Wait_. The man behind them wiggled his finger and gave Alex a wave.

" _That's_ not good," said Alex when he turned back. "That's Eagle. He works with Wolf."

Fletcher frowned, seemingly perplexed all of the sudden. "Eagle? What kind of name is Eagle?"

"I dunno. He said it's a nickname. Maybe it has something to do with Wolf being called Wolf. Maybe it's a code name—Wolf did say that he was part of SAS until he broke his arm. "

"SAS?"

"Special Air…Something."

"I know what it stands for. I just wasn't aware that he was."

"I thought you're a Mister Know-It-All. My expectation exceeded your reputation, I see."

Fletcher huffed, crossing his arms, tensing just slightly when a faint shadow fell over their table. Eagle made his way to their table. He leaned against the edge casually. "Hello Fletcher, hello Mayford." He paused dramatically. " _Oops_ , my bad, I forgot to ask. Do you prefer Mayford or Alex?"

Alex's eyes flickered sharply to the man's and his feet planted themselves firmly on the ground in case he needed to run or knock Eagle out with a chair. Outwardly, he remained lax in his seat. "I've no idea what you're talking about."

"C'mon, it was a good cover while it lasted but it's not funny anymore. You're like, sixteen."

Alex arched an eyebrow. "Gee thanks. I know I look young, but sixteen? I'd take that as a compliment."

"Anyway, Wolf wants to see you two." Eagle grinned, ignoring his attempt. He patted him on the shoulder as if they were friends. "Come with me. I've got a cool car."

"I'm afraid we'll have to decline," said Fletcher as he stood. Alex followed suit. "We have places to be."

"That wasn't a request." Eagle grabbed Alex by his collar and marched him toward the car. "Let's go."

Alex caught Fletcher's eyes for direction. Fletcher nodded but a hint of an ulterior plan was in his posture. It was that moment when Eagle turned just slightly to face his car that Fletcher acted. Or really, he ran. Fletcher flipped over the corner wall. Eagle had tried to grab Fletcher in the brief moment but his fingers only flimsily made contact with the clothing. Eagle grunted in irritation, releasing Alex and about to run to catch Fletcher when he skidded to a stop. The man came back in two leaps and grabbed Alex again. By now, Fletcher had already melted into the busy afternoon pedestrian traffic.

"You're not gonna go after him?" asked Alex dryly, allowing himself to be hauled along to the car.

"And let you run off? One is better than none." Eagle huffed, pulling open the passenger seat. "You better sit still and not run off."

"And if I do?"

"I'll karate chop you."

Eagle kept a scrutinizing eye on him as they drove toward the precinct in silence. Alex wondered just how in the world Eagle and Wolf knew where and when Fletcher and he was meeting Beck. Somebody must have let loose something. A frown marred his features. Besides Fletcher and him, only Beck knew the precise details. It definitely wasn't Fletcher, which meant it was Beck. But why would Beck talk to the police? She said she didn't trust anybody else. Was that a lie? Or maybe it wasn't. Maybe somebody else had leaked it. But who else knew?

He did call Claire, but he didn't tell her anything about the location or the time. Besides, she was trustworthy.

"You angry that Fletcher ran off without you?" Eagle suddenly asked.

"What? No." Alex glanced at the man in confusion. "Why would I?"

"Well, for starters, he ran off without you."

"Not like he could've done anything differently."

"He could've tried to take me out. He could've at least tried."

Alex shrugged. "He has his plan. He knows that you can't hurt me."

Eagle slowed down before the red light. The traffic seemed to be moving sluggishly, more so than usual. "And why's that?"

"Because Wolf has questions." Alex tried to glance past the cars in front. The road led the plaza which was usually busy but not this busy. He thought he saw red and blue lights flashing up ahead but the glare of the sun made it difficult to see. Must be the shooting he heard about on the news. "The shooting. How bad was it?"

"Not sure. Sit still. I have a call to make. Be quiet for a second." Eagle pulled out his phone and dialed a number that he had on speed-dial.

The light turned green. One hand on the wheel and the other on the phone, Eagle pushed forward. "Hey, it's me. I got him but Fletcher got away."

"Is that Wolf?" asked Alex.

Eagle shushed him. "Yeah, we're on our way…Not yet…Was anybody hurt?…"

Alex turned, watching Eagle's face for any hint. He caught the man's gaze flickering to his quickly but then back to the slow-moving traffic.

"You sure that's a good idea?…" Eagle's brows furrowed. "Yeah, yeah, okay. We're almost there." He hung up.

"What did he say" asked Alex. He shifted in his seat uncomfortably. "What happened?"

Eagle didn't reply but instead gave him a grimace as he switched lane and pulled up as close as he could next to the taped-off plaza. The whole entire square was wrapped with one strand of yellow tape and civilians had gathered all around the lopsided half-circle. Ambulances had their back doors open and the paramedics were carting human-shaped bloodied white sheets into the back of the ambulance. Eagle got out of the car and opened the door for him.

"Follow me and keep your head down," Eagle muttered as he flashed a badge at one of the officers guarding the scene. When the man tried to stop Alex, Eagle told him that Alex was with him.

Alex swallowed. There was something awful with the scene. Something about the emptiness of the vast space and the lack of people just screamed wrong. Alex saw Wolf standing by a man whose back was to him. Beside Alex, Eagle waved to get Wolf's attention. The man's posture clenched almost comically when his eyes settled on Alex. Alex tried to think of some sort of funny excuse to explain his actions but that was the least of his worry when the man blocking Wolf turned as well.

The sky growled loudly. Suddenly Alex found himself looking at a man whom he had been searching for the better half of the year. He froze. The man recognized him as well but it wasn't a 'good to see you son' nor an 'I'm sorry for leaving you' smile he gave Alex but rather an 'I wish we met under better circumstance' grimace.

"That's your dad, isn't it?" Eagle tried to push him forward but Alex pushed back.

Alex didn't want to. It was all too fake. He had been searching for the man for seven months and here he was, acting as if Alex had merely inconvenient himself. John walked toward Alex when Alex refused to budge.

"Get me out of here," said Alex to Eagle. Eagle gave his shoulder a quick squeeze.

"Alex." John's voice carried and all Alex could see was the stretch between him and the man slowly decreasing until he was suddenly right in front of him. "Alex?"

"It's Mayford, not Alex."

"It's okay, son. I'm here. You don't have to pretend anymore." John gathered him slowly in his arms. It felt off. "You okay, buddy?"

Behind Wolf, a pair of paramedics carted out another body, familiar blond curls bounced up and down as they eased the stretcher over a protruding stone slab. In the wind, the sheet fluttered but stuck by the force of the blood. Alex recognized the face when the breeze brushed aside the cloth covering the head.

"Claire?" Alex broke out of John's hold and ran toward the stretcher. Wolf tried to stop him but Alex was faster.

"Hey!" One of the paramedics grabbed him before he got any closer.

Up close, Alex knew he was right. It was Claire. _It was Claire_. "What happened? C'mon, she can't be dead. What was she doing out here? Why—"

"Mayford!" Wolf snapped, pulling him away. "Let them do their work."

"No, that's Claire! You don't get it. That's Claire. She's, she's my friend. I—"

"I know," said Wolf, a little softer but a little firmer at the same time. "I'm sorry."

Alex watched numbly as the paramedic pushed the cot away. The woman who grabbed him gave him an apologetic look before pulling the sheet back over Claire's face. Just one more body to the dozen that had already been driven away.

Where was Yassen? Why wasn't Yassen here?

"Why don't we go back to the station?" Wolf suggested. "Then we can talk."

John settled a hand on his shoulder gently. "No, I'm taking him home. It's been a long day."

"No." Alex shrugged off the hand angrily. "I want to know what happened."

"Okay."

It began to rain.


	26. All Quiet

Alex didn't know what went wrong. There was something missing and Alex was not sure what to do to make it better.

"Water?" asked the man with his father's face and his father's voice.

"No thanks," he replied. It didn't exactly sound like him and he was sure his voice had cracked on the first word.

"Alex," said the peppermint woman sternly as if she was reprimanding him for doing something wrong.

Alex froze, hearing the name out of her mouth. Alex's father's face turned taut for a brief moment before it slid away. They _knew,_ he realized. Suddenly, the room turned a few degrees hotter. A hand adjusting the loose collar of his shirt, Alex let his eyes flickered from face to face. They finally landed on Wolf. Wolf didn't look surprised. _All_ of them knew.

"I…"

"We know," said John quietly. "And trust me, we understand."

"...Know what?"

Like the father he was, John humored Alex's attempt at innocence. "Scorpia, their game, Fletcher, and everything that they made you do. You don't have to hide it anymore. We will help you get out of it."

"I don't know what you're talking about."

Wolf shut the door to his office, turned the blinds, and took a seat in the chair a few feet from his. "You're the Parkour kid. You stole money and you worked with Fletcher to do it. Fletcher is an assassin working for Scorpia. We know _everything_ , Mayford."

Alex's lips quirked up in a small smile at the name. However, Wolf immediately destroyed the smile. "And you're not twenty-two either."

"Look," John intervened. "All we want to do is get you out of there safe and sound."

"We?" Alex eyed his father. "I thought you're a banker."

John sighed. "I'm sorry I lied. I couldn't tell you or anybody. Right now, your safety is very important to us."

"You have a plan?"

"What?"

"You want to get me out of there. Do you have a plan or are you just going to grab me and hope Fletcher will just let me go with what I know?"

"Of course not. We won't let him come close to you."

Alex had the feeling that if Fletcher were to get close, the man would either be captured or die by the hands of MI6. It sent foreboding shivers down his spine despite the heat in the room. The idea of Fletcher dying wasn't very agreeable with him because, ultimately, the man had done nothing wrong besides standing by his goal. But then, didn't everybody else?

"I want to know what happened to Claire," said Alex suddenly. "Why was she there?" And where was Yassen? Was he already dead?

The three adults in the room looked at each other as if preparing an ELI-5 response. It was Wolf who delivered it. "I received a report from my officers about a shooting at the plaza. We went to investigate and there we found Claire and…Yassen Gregorovich." The man watched Alex's face for any recognition. "He's an assassin working for Scorpia, same as Fletcher."

"Where is he?"

"We saw him briefly but he left right after without us noticing," his father replied.

So the assassin was alive yet he couldn't have protected a simple street girl. Did Claire die alone?

"Claire and Gregorovich were targeted by Scorpia," Mrs. Jones said, her arms crossed with a look on her face. "I'm sure you know why."

Alex shrugged.

"Scorpia's after something," she continued. "A USB drive. I'm sure you know that. Isn't that what your friend Fletcher is after as well?"

"I dunno."

"Whatever you know about the whereabouts of the USB, you should let us know. The sooner we get it, the sooner this will all be over and you can go home."

By now, Fletcher should've already found Sebastien Morrison. If Beck's information was correct, they would be a step closer to finding the USB drive if not already have it in their possession. And then Fletcher would probably use it to blackmail the boss and get his position. And then Scorpia would have a new leader. And then Alex could go home. And then what? And then nothing, because their story should just end there. It wasn't as if Fletcher becoming the head of an international assassin organization would impact his life; although if he thought about it, Alex could one day honestly say that he had friends in high places. Fletcher owed him big time.

"Are you protecting him?" asked his father suddenly. "The assassin?"

 _Pfft_. Fletcher needing protection from him? Uh, no? "I'm not. I just don't see any point choosing your side."

John looked disappointed by his response and Alex had to square his jaw and look away before his resolve could waver. The ringing of Wolf's phone thankfully interrupted the interrogation. The commander frowned at his phone then excused himself to take the call. He shut the door on his way out, locking Alex in with the two from MI6. Alex wished Wolf hadn't done that.

The three of them stayed in awkward uncomfortable silence. Every time Mrs. Jones wanted to say something, his father was there to glare her down in a challenging unflinching away that made Alex wonder if Mrs. Jones was indeed in charge.

Wolf returned not a second sooner, barging into the office with a meaningful look on his face that seemed to be aimed toward Alex. The man turned to Mrs. Jones. "Sebastien Morrison was found dead in his home. Murder."

"Sebastien Morrison?"

"The brother of Cross Morrison," John supplied grimly. "Who did it?"

"I don't know. They just found him. I'm heading to the scene."

Mrs. Jones halted him before he could leave. "Take Alex with you."

"That's—" John objected but she cut him off with a hand.

"Agent Rider and I need to have a talk." She drew out her words.

Alex debated whether or not he should refuse the order. But then, he didn't want to stay either. Besides, it was Sebastien Morrison. Fletcher was supposed to be there. Did…did Fletcher kill him? Alex didn't think so because Fletcher wasn't a killer. He just knew.

The car ride there was quiet besides the humming of the engine and when they pulled up at the scene, the officers lifted the tape for them to enter. Wolf was immediately met by an officer who told the commander that he called as soon as he recognized the victim was someone Wolf wanted them to pay extra attention to. The officers held Alex behind the tape until Wolf told them that Alex was with him almost hesitantly. It was as if, with the reveal of Alex's age, the man didn't know whether or not crime scenes were appropriate. Alex snorted; it wasn't as if it was his first dead body. The man had sent him to a body dump before.

"There was a struggle," said one of the officers when they entered the house and donned their gloves.

The signs of the struggle were area-specific. The coffee table neared the sofa was overturned and the teacups smashed but the sofa was untouched. Near the wall was a shelf whose contents were strewn across the floor beneath it. Alex could almost see the path the attacker and the victim took as they stumbled along, one offensive and one defensive. Sebastien's body laid atop a blood-soaked carpet by the overturned coffee table, a single bullet hole on his forehead, squarely between his wide fearful eyes. Alex looked away.

"Why don't you go outside and see if you can find anything?" Wolf said, walking by the body and noticing Alex's posture.

"What is there to find?" Alex frowned at the way he was treated. "Trampled flowers? Escape trail? Bread crumbs?"

Wolf grunted in annoyance and left him alone, bending down to take a closer look at the victim as if the cause of death wasn't clear enough already. Alex's feet took him to the small bedroom by the kitchen. It looked untouched by whatever had happened in the living room. Right on cue, his phone trembled in his pocket. Alex didn't recognize the number but he had a good guess just who it was and he was right.

"I found it," said Fletcher. "The USB."

"From Sebastien?"

"Yes. You were right to think of him."

"...Did you kill him?"

"How did you know he's dead?"

"Well." Alex cleared his throat. "I was staring at it a few minutes ago. Wolf took me to the scene after they found the body."

"I didn't kill him," Fletcher snorted. "He was more than willing to part way with the USB after I persuaded him. I was about to leave when one of the Scorpia agents caught up. He was the one who killed Morrison."

"And what happened to him?"

"Well, I shot him. You can find his body in the trunk in the bedroom if you're curious. I made sure the shot was clean." The nonchalant tone to Fletcher's voice was a little unnerving and Fletcher must've caught onto his silence because he then added. "It was me or him. There was never a choice."

Alex put his phone on hold and bent down to look beneath the bed. The path the trunk had taken had disturbed the dust pattern but it was only when Alex looked for it did he found it. He dragged out the large wooden trunk by the handle and unclasped the top by its large clip. Alex nearly jumped as a hand flopped uselessly back onto the dead body as if it had a mind of its own. Fletcher had taken the liberty to close the agent's dead eyes and, if not for the bullet hole still bleeding sluggishly from the neck, it was as if the man was just taking a nap inside a trunk underneath a dead man's bed. Alex shut the trunk quietly and was about to move it back under the bed when Wolf walked into the room.

"What's that?" the man demanded, moving next to him and move the trunk out of his hands. Whatever he was going to say died in his throat when Wolf's eyes landed on the body. "Who's this?"

"I don't know."

Wolf got up and grabbed a few officers back into the room. There was a clamor of surprise and dismay at the trunk and they soon took to inspecting and laying out the body. Alex barely had time to grab his phone before Wolf was dragging him outside, tossing away his glove, and asking him how the bloody hell did he find the dead body.

Alex coughed. "Fletcher."

"What?"

"Fletcher called me," Alex admitted.

Wolf's eyes sharpened in alarm. "What did he say? Why did he know?"

"He was here—but he didn't kill Sebastien; it was another Scorpia agent who caught up to him." Defending the assassin, Alex tried hard not to shy away from Wolf's narrowing glare. "Fletcher didn't kill him." He felt the need to repeat that for the benefit of Wolf's simple-mindedness.

"You don't know that."

"He told me."

"You can't trust him," Wolf shot back. "Next time he calls, you better let us know first."

John took him home after that, having seen them outside the house as he was pulling up at the crime scene. Wolf was still fuming and had told John that Alex was very disobedient and that Fletcher had called. His father didn't look too happy that Alex had gotten in touch with the assassin. But then again, his father hadn't looked happy since a very long time ago. Alex didn't think he could make the man happy again anyway.

They pulled up at their house. When they opened the creaking door, John coughed as he batted away the dust. "What happened here? Looks like dead people lived here."

His father wasn't very far from the truth. A thin sheet of dust had settled over everything and their entrance had kicked up a storm that danced underneath the light in the kitchen that John turned on. His fingers came back coated in dust that had covered the light switch. John brushed it away on his pants.

"What happened in here?" his father asked.

"I crashed at Tom's," Alex mumbled.

"What? Why?" John took a swipe at the kitchen table and tusked mockingly. "Did the heater break?"

"No, it's just…kinda too big by myself."

His father paused in what he was doing and turned to him, slowly throwing the tissue away as a look of understanding reached his eyes. He sighed wearily and sat down on the chair. A dust cloud puffed out.

"I'm sorry."

"Whatever." Alex shrugged. "I'm going to take a bath."

Eyes lighting up, John stood up and offered to cook but Alex stopped him; the refrigerator was empty and there was no point running out to grab groceries if John was just going to leave tomorrow again.

"I'm not leaving," John reassured him. "I'm here to stay, Al. This whole thing, it's almost over. I don't have to be away anymore."

"Whatever," said Alex again. When he turned and walked away, he felt awful. Alex could feel his father's eyes following his retreating figure in resignation. Alex had waited so long for his father to return and had risked so much in the process but the man he got back wasn't the man he lost. Alex didn't like it. He wished he could go back in time. There were some things he wanted to change and something he wanted to not do.

His phone rang just as he climbed upstairs. It was Fletcher again. "Meet me at the corner cafe."

* * *

When Alex arrived, Fletcher was already munching on a bagel and downing it with a cup of tea. The clouds had cleared up but the air still smelled of rain and damp dirt. Alex sat down in front of the assassin and stole a bagel off the plate.

Fletcher leaned in closer and slid a small box over the table. Alex took it and opened the lid. A small white scorpion rested atop the black USB. He closed the box and handed it back to Fletcher who had a small victorious smile on his face. "I've arranged a meeting with the boss tomorrow. I'll present him two choices but there's really only one he could choose if he doesn't want the whole organization after him."

"Please elaborate, your highness."

Fletcher pocketed the USB. "If he doesn't agree to hand over Scorpia to me, I will publish the information on the USB."

"The names? Are you sure that would be enough? Does he really to keep the list of names in secret that badly?"

"There's more than just names and addresses on there." The assassin shook his head. "It contains plans for past, ongoing and even potential operations. I didn't know the content before but now I do and there's no way the boss wouldn't want it back. If the information gets out, Scorpia will be destroyed."

"...You want to destroy Scorpia?"

Fletcher shot him a withering glance. "I don't but if he chooses to refuse my deal, I will do it. But I know he will accept it."

"What if he doesn't? What if Scorpia isn't all that important to him? You'd be doing this all for nothing."

"No, I'll destroy Scorpia if he refuses. If I cannot win, he will not either."

Alex sat back, a little surprised by the heat and conviction in the man's tone. It sounded almost personal. "Why do you want power so much? Do you really want to control and string along a bunch of assassins?"

"I have people I want to kill," Fletcher admitted without batting an eye. "And right now, I cannot kill them without going the boss. He will have me hunted down if I do. If I want the people dead without a hitch, he cannot have the power to order my death."

"...Who do you want to kill?" When Fletcher refused to tell him, Alex said, "maybe, whoever they are, you don't need to kill them. Aren't you okay with how you currently are?"

Fletcher frowned and looked at him, a little annoyed. "I don't know what you're trying to say but it sounds like you're trying to go against me. Is that what you're doing? Did MI6 tell you something incriminating against me?"

"No," Alex shot back. "I'm thinking about what's the best for you. What are you going to do with an army of assassins anyway? I don't think you know what kind of power that is."

"Do you?"

"I…"

"Alex," said Fletcher slowly. "I know what I'm doing. You just watch. If you don't believe it, why don't you come to the meeting with me tomorrow? I'll show you what it feels like when a plan comes together perfectly. Besides, it'd be good to get some experience."

"Experience?"

"Working as my second," Fletcher smiled. "You can work for me when I take the place as the head. You're good at what you do, although there are _plenty_ of rooms for improvement."

"That sounds more like an insult than a compliment," Alex muttered. "I'm not an assassin and I don't intend to ever be one. I'm not a killer."

"You don't have to be a killer."

"I'm good. I'll pass."

Fletcher chugged the rest of his tea and the last piece of his bagel. He got up as he finished and turned to walk away. Hands pausing at the back of his metal chair, Fletcher turned back and regarded him again. "You should reconsider my offer. After tomorrow, you'd be forced to choose a side; Me, or them. It's already too late to get out."

"Who's 'them'?"

Fletcher didn't reply as he moved away. Alex's gaze followed him as far as he could until the people, once again, engulfed him as they did earlier when Eagle had taken him away. He waited another minute until he was sure that Fletcher wasn't near anymore before he got up, pushed his chair in slowly, and walked down the street to the grey van parked along the curb.

He pulled open the door and climbed in. Sitting down on the seat, Alex reached down his shirt and pulled out the wire. He passed it into Wolf's waiting hands. The commander set down his headset and tucked away the wire.

"Good work," Wolf said. "Your job's done here. You should go home."

"You promise you won't hurt him?" Alex asked stiffly.

Beside him, John settled a hand on his shoulder. "All we want is the USB and the current head of Scorpia if we can. As long as things go smoothly, nothing will happen to Fletcher."

It wasn't very reassuring.

John took him home after that.

* * *

From the first-floor window the three of them stood behind, Wolf could see clearly the scheduled meeting place between Fletcher and the head of Scorpia. Beside him, Agent Rider shifted his binoculars and leaned back, giving a quick nod to Snake who had lined the scope on his rifle on the pier.

"That Sparrow?" Snake asked.

Sparrow was the code name for Fletcher.

Wolf nodded as his scope settled on the lone figure standing by the small dock. It was a small secluded part of the dock that housed only a few fishermen's small boats. At high noon, the port was virtually cleared of civilians and devoid of any sign of movements besides the shimmering sea in the background. Fletcher must've chosen this place precisely because of its openness.

There were a total of four groups surrounding the dock, all hiding in buildings or behind natural barrels. It would be hard for anybody to spot them, just like how Mrs. Jones intended it to turn out. Mayford—Alex—made a deal with Mrs. Jones yesterday: he was willing to cooperate with them if she promised that they wouldn't harm Fletcher. Mayford knew that if he didn't, Mrs. Jones would try to get the USB out of Fletcher using whatever force necessary and ordering agents to torture the assassin wasn't far from her list. Agent Rider didn't like the way the deal came about but he subdued because the safety of his son clearly held more value than his conscience.

Agent Rider grabbed the radio by his shoulder and broadcast softly to the other agents. "As soon as the deal goes down, get out there and grab the target. If Sparrow runs, you are to do nothing. You will let him run. Do not shoot him."

Voices muttering 'copy' came back in groups and Agent Rider looked a little more satisfied. He settled back down, eyes on the binoculars. It was after a short while that their target, the head of Scorpia, came into view. Wolf supposed it was naive of them to believe that the man would show up alone but he didn't expect Yassen Gregorovich to be the man standing behind the head. Beside him, Agent Rider took a short breath in dismay. The audio feed they placed near the site began picking up voices.

Fletcher offered the man his deal: to turn over the organization to him or he would release the information he had on the USB. The threatening tone the assassin held seemed to have no effect on the head of Scorpia as he laughed, finding something funny that none of them did.

"Fletcher, you amuse me. Threats don't work if you don't have the resolve to go through with it so why don't you hand over the drive and we can go our separate ways? I'll even turn a blind eye to all the difficulties you have caused me."

"Are you sure I won't go through with my threat?" There was a hint of a smirk in Fletcher's tone.

"Oh, I'm not saying that you definitely don't." The boss shook his head. "What I'm saying is that dead men tell no tales. If you don't hand it over, Gregorovich will kill you. I'm sure you know Gregorovich. I was aware that you two used to work together."

As if making his point, Gregorovich leveled his gun at Fletcher without a hint of emotion on his face. Wolf couldn't see Fletcher's face well enough because he was mostly angled away from them but, from whatever parts he could see, Fletcher looked surprised. His body posture was taunt.

"Now give it to me."

"If you think I was stupid enough to carry it with me, you must be an even bigger fool. It will be uploaded in an hour; that is if I don't cancel it. There you have it. Now, make your decision."

"I can force it out of you."

"Ah yes, threaten to kill me. What good will that do? You know how good I am at—"

"Drop it."

The whole yard was suddenly engulfed by silence as a young voice made itself known. Agent Rider turned his binocular to the source so fast that Wolf was afraid he was going to smack himself with it. Wolf was guilty of doing the same.

"Why the fuck is he here?" Wolf whispered as his scope settled.

"I don't know. I told him to stay home." Agent Rider's hands were clenched around the binocular. "Where did he get that gun?"

Wolf had the faint suspicion that Mayford had taken it from the police precinct. But then, knowing Fletcher's hobby, the assassin could've given one to the kid as well. Wherever Mayford got the gun from, it wasn't important right now. What was important was the sturdy way he pointed it at Gregorovich and the utter lack of armor or anything on him. It looked like he had just run out of the house without much preparation.

"I'll kill him," Wolf growled.

Agent Rider looked torn between running out to grab Mayford and staying put and following the proper procedures. They couldn't risk going out there because who knew what Gregorovich or the target would do if another presence joined in. They didn't need more variables.

"Drop it," Mayford said again. This time, a little louder.

"Oh, look who joined," said the head of Scorpia, a little surprised but a little mocking at the same time. "Little Alex Rider. Very nice to see you."

Wolf didn't know how the man knew Mayford's identity but Agent Rider must've made some enemies in high places.

It happened in a brief second. None of them saw where he had kept it previously but the gun in the head of Scorpia's hand was unmistakably pointed in Mayford's direction. Agent Rider rushed up, only for Snake to pull him back down.

"Now it's your turn to choose, Fletcher," said the man. "The kid, or the USB. I'll give you ten seconds. After ten, his death will be on you."

Wolf counted the ten seconds. He was sure Agent Rider did as well. Fletcher didn't move nor did he utter a word. The assassin held the head of Scorpia's gaze and refused to choose.

"That bastard." Agent Rider gripped the scopes tightly.

"If we shoot the target and Gregorovich, we can—"

"No."

"No? Mayford's life is at stake here."

"I don't want any bloodshed."

Wolf abandoned his scope for a moment and turned to glance at Agent Rider as if he was out of his mind. "You don't want bloodshed? Things are already so far out that it'd be a miracle if nobody dies."

"Don't say that," Snake interjected.

They turned back to the situation. Nobody was moving and the ten seconds had long passed. It was as if the boss wasn't expecting Fletcher's response. But then, a refusal was a refusal.

"Gregorovich," said the head as he turned to the assassin by his side whose gun was still pointed at Fletcher. "Shoot the kid."

Wolf's finger itched toward the trigger but Yassen didn't move.

"Shoot the kid," the man repeated.

The tall assassin acted as if he didn't hear him, his gun still pointed at Fletcher. Fletcher glanced at Yassen. Wolf's eyes left his scope for a brief second, seeking out Agent Rider's because they couldn't continue this anymore. He needed to give the order to shoot the assassin or—

A shot rang out.


	27. End of the Beginning

A.N.: To that certain guest review with the detailed conjecture of what might happen, I'd give you that 10 bucks for your effort alone. But _nuh-uh._ I have things planned~and it's going way longer than I expected. Although I'd certainly love to go with your plotline.

* * *

When Alex heard the shot, he flinched away, sure of neither the who nor the where. It wasn't him, Alex realized. Slowly, he turned back. The aftermath was silent. The sea behind them churned and washed ashore a few waves. It was quiet. A little uneasy. Facing the glaring sea, Alex couldn't immediately make out the foreground from the back. Then somebody moved. The lights broke. It was Yassen. But it also wasn't Yassen.

The assassin moved forward slowly, leisurely. Then he crumpled onto his knees. His faded white shirt was bleeding a sluggish red from his stomach. Then the boss moved, in his hand a gun that Alex had seen only a blur of before the shot. The man clicked back on the safety with a sigh as if he was disappointed.

"What..." Alex found the courage to speak but it washed away in a breath. He rushed toward the fallen man but Fletcher stopped him in only two steps with an outstretched arm and a low warning.

The boss shifted, shoes grinding the sand. "A man is of no use to me if he cannot separate emotions from work. I trust that you know what I speak of, little Alex. I'm merely eliminating the weak. And you will be next if Fletcher does not comply."

Like a cornered lion, Fletcher moved stiffly forward a step before stopping. "Брат, are you—"

Even with a thin sheen of sweat covered his paling face, Yassen mastered a cold glare at Fletcher, successfully stopping the rest of the words from tumbling out. Alex ripped his arm out of Fletcher's grip but, once again, Fletcher pulled him back.

"You just shot your own man," said Alex to the boss. It had been two against two. Now, it was two against one.

"Gregorovich isn't dead yet but he will be if he doesn't leave right here and now. What are you going to choose, Fletcher? Let your friend die, or let him live?"

Agitated, Alex's hands clenched with their own will. C'mon, Fletcher. Revenge could take another day. This was a living life they were talking about, for Heaven's sake! If Yassen was Fletcher's friend, Yassen should win any day over Fletcher's revenge. Alex didn't understand the burning hesitation in Fletcher's stance. "Fletcher, let's just hand it over."

Fletcher turned to him sharply and Alex swallowed. The assassin looked betrayed. "This is something I have to do." Then he turned back to the boss and took another step forward. "So what if he dies? I'm done being nice. Choose to step down quietly and peacefully, or I will shoot you. This isn't my plan but I sure as bloody hell can make it work. You will find that you have fewer supporters than you think you do in Scorpia."

There was something a lot more personal crackling in the air between them. It wasn't just Scorpia, Alex felt, or Fletcher's desire to kill because if it simply were that, the boss would've been dead a long time ago. Fletcher wasn't somebody that minded the consequences if he knew he was capable of accomplishing the feat.

The air stilled. Then the boss laughed. It was a hearty one. "Kill me? You can't kill me, little brother."

Alex faltered. Little brother? The boss caught his expression and another laugh escaped him. "Oh, you didn't tell him? You dragged him along all this time and he is not privy to even the setting of your grand scheme? And now I cannot help, Fletcher, but wonder if the man you really want to kill is me or little Alex's father."

What?

"Don't go there," Fletcher warned.

"Alex, it was your father who killed Fletcher's fiancee. She also happened to be my sister."

"No," Fletcher said to the boss. "It wasn't Alex's father who killed her. It was your twisted self-serving father who killed her."

"It wasn't my father who shot her—"

"You sent her out to test the water. You _knew_ ," Fletcher a breath, "you knew fully that MI6 was out there and will open fire as soon as the first person appears. You made her a diversion that costed her life."

"She did it to save you. Didn't you vow to kill John Rider because of that? Isn't that why you reached out to his son?"

"That was then," Fletcher said, his gun drawing a curt angle until it was up again. "And this is now. I'm tired of hearing this. Because you are my brother-in-law, I'll spare your life. But if you keep defending your twisted father and his order, I will kill you too."

The boss looked surprised, eyes meeting Fletcher's. Then slowly, he raised his hands as well. They rose above his head and the gun fell onto the ground. It made a sound that was drowned away by the cry of a seagull flying overhead. Wings flapping, it landed on a wooden perch meters away and watched them.

"Then go ahead. Kill me. You will get nothing from it anyway."

Alex thought he should be doing something to intervene. Fletcher's hand trembled despite his hardened posture. There was hesitation but it was also as if the assassin was waiting for something. The air was suddenly broken by Yassen slowly slumping against the wooden post, scaring the seagull. With another cry, it flew into the air, kicking up a small cloud of dust as it went. Then it settled down on another perch. And right as it landed with its feet connecting, Fletcher fired. It fled.

Stunned, Alex could only turn and watch as the boss's body, eyes wide, slowly toppled into the pier in an ungraceful arc. The water splashed and engulfed him. Then the reality of the event dawned on him. Fletcher had—

The assassin brushed past him and bent down, easing Yassen onto his back in a single graceful move. He chucked his firearm at Alex, who fumbled and caught it. Fletcher glanced at him, watched him, and said, "Come with me. We need to get him treated." The assassin then moved but he stopped in a few steps. His eyes lingered on a far window of a shack then began moving again.

"But the body—"

"Come."

Alex strayed then, quietly, he followed. And all the while, he wondered if they would have to come back tomorrow to get the body or if the water would take it away to sea.

* * *

Eagle chased away the seagull with a hand, the other hand resting atop his holstered gun. Fox was with Agent Rider, quietly murmuring away on the side. Wolf walked over to where Snake was squatting next to the edge of the pier. The other officers were standing in the knee-high water where the body of the head of Scorpia had fallen. Or where it should've fallen because there was nothing there beside stray fish and muddy water.

"It couldn't have been carried out to sea so soon. The waves are calm," said Snake as Wolf neared.

Agent Rider had instructed all men to stand down as Fletcher took Gregorovich and Alex away from the scene. They had waited for another full minute before rushing onto the scene in an attempt to recover the body before it was gone. Wolf was against waiting because that had been their chance to take both assassins and Alex into custody. But Agent Rider was in charge and he disagreed, arguing that Fletcher's unpredictable behavior might result in misfire from their side. With both Yassen and Alex on the scene, Agent Rider had said he could not take the risk of stray bullets. Wolf had disagreed. He trusted the skills of his fellow officers-in-arm but he let it go. Agent Rider looked torn enough and Wolf couldn't help but wonder if it was only because of Mayford— _Alex_. And he wondered the extent to which Agent Rider knew Gregorovich.

Wolf turned back to the shallow ends. "The target was shot. Even if he isn't dead, he couldn't have gone far."

Nodding in agreement, Snake stuck a stick into the water. The mud caught it in a slippery grip and when he pulled out, it dripped off the stick in slumps. The medic turned to Wolf and said, "Don't you think it was a little off?"

"What was?"

"This whole thing," gestured Snake vaguely. "Why would he kill the target? I understand that the head of Scorpia might not have a lot of allies even in Scorpia but, it's unorthodox. Doing so will only create tension within the organization."

Wolf grimaced. "Changes in leadership never go well. You think Fletcher might have had other plans?"

Snake shrugged, casting his eyes out to the sea. "I just don't think he would've so easily killed the head. It's too theatrical. A little too smooth."

The argument had some sounding logic to it, but Wolf was unsure what to think. On one hand, why didn't Fletcher shoot the target on the first meeting if that was what he was going to do in the end anyway? It didn't make sense to end things so abruptly and as if seemingly without consequences. But on the other hand, Fletcher was always steps ahead of them. Even during the conversation leading up to the shot, the assassin could've been planning something else. Wolf doubted that Fletcher relied on only Plan A. The moment Mayford— _Alex_ , he frustratingly corrected himself again—had stepped into the field, Fletcher must've pushed forth a different plan to accommodate the change.

But what if it was all part of _a_ plan? _One single plan._ A flawless execution, perfect to the very last detail, considering even the presence of MI6 and the intrusion of Alex. Wolf thought back to the moment Fletcher was leaving. The assassin had looked directly at the shack they hid behind as if he knew. He might very well have, Wolf thought grimly.

Agent Rider came over with Fox who shook his head and said, "The body's nowhere to be found."

"So we lost all four of them?" said Wolf.

Fox grimly nodded, hands on his hips. "We'll expand the search in the pier. There's the chance the target survived the shot and managed to swim away." The spy mimicked the trajectory of the bullet with his hand then slowly leaned slightly to the side to reenact the motion the head of Scorpia had taken after being shot. "He wasn't shot in the head. He was shot near the heart but I didn't get a clear sight. It could've gone into his shoulder instead."

Wolf nodded. They had to consider that possibility. But no matter where the man was shot, he could not go very far without medical attention. The same could be said for Gregorovich. "Watch the hospitals."

"They know we're looking for them," said Agent Rider while shaking his head in disagreement. "They won't bother with hospitals or public facilities."

"Just in case," Snake offered. "Who knows? If they're desperate enough, they might. They can't go anywhere without first being treated. They'll need supplies." The medic stood up and brushed off the sand on his pants.

Fox nodded. "I'll get to that. In the meantime." He sighed and glanced at Agent Rider. "We'll need to come up with a good explanation for Mrs. Jones."

Looking pained, Agent Rider replied, "Something as big as this one, maybe even Blunt would want a piece of it."

The two of them shared another grimace before bidding Wolf and the others goodbye, heading to their car. Eagle jogged over. Wolf let him know that they would need a few more officers to be stationed at the pier in case the target surfaced here. The sharpshooter nodded, about to go until a thought suddenly hit him.

"Why don't we grab a drink after this?"

"You're in the mood to grab a drink? After this?" Because Wolf wasn't.

"Well, I'm always down for a drink actually." Eagle grinned. "Besides, Snake's here. We should catch up. Then tomorrow, we go back to work."

Wolf glanced at the medic who looked tentatively supportive of the idea. Snake rarely drank, which was strange considering that almost every other soldier Wolf knew had a habit of knocking one back after missions or in between days.

"Let's do that." Snake agreed. "Wolf?"

Begrudgingly, he nodded.

* * *

Alex helped Fletcher push open the door. The assassin bent slowly over to not bump Yassen's head against the frame before setting him onto the bed by the wall. Over the distance they had traveled, the blood on Yassen's shirt had already dried. Alex sat down on a chair as Fletcher moved to light up the fireplace. The small house they were in must've been one of Fletcher's safe houses. Besides the fireplace, the bed, a table with a few chairs, a lamp, a wardrobe, and a washroom, the room was bare.

"He needs a hospital," said Alex quietly, watching the assassin on the bed.

Fletcher just hummed, looking a little happy despite the events. Alex thought he might've gone mad. "Does he really?" said Fletcher.

Was Fletcher really trying to kill Yassen? Alex felt a surge of anger but he pushed it down and, instead, said, "First you killed a man and now you're going to let your friend bleed out? Do you even have a single shred of bloody conscience?" His anger still came through.

Turning, Fletcher watched him with inquisitive eyes. He seemed a little pleased but also a little disappointed by what he saw in Alex. Fletcher turned back to Yassen. There was a long moment of silence. Then Fletcher uncharacteristically smirked. "You can open your eyes now, Брат. You're scaring the kid."

Fletcher must've truly gone mad was Alex's thought. Then, calmly, on the bed, Yassen opened his eyes. The man reached under his shirt to pull out a plastic bag of dark red and then he stood up. He chucked the bag at Fletcher's direction, heading to the wardrobe.

Alex blinked. "What…Where…" Alex stuttered. Wasn't Yassen just…dying a moment ago? What?

"I'm going to change," explained the pale assassin.

"Yes, I know that but what…how…didn't you…?"

Fletcher clapped him on the back. "Congratulation, you passed. You're now unofficially a Scorpia agent."

"Excuse me what?" Alex scooted back. Some part of this wasn't making sense. Yassen was dead. And then Yassen wasn't dead. But somebody was dead. The boss was dead. But it was a test? Was it a test? But the boss was dead. Was it because of him? Was Alex—

"Don't worry, almost everything we went through was not real. Yassen is still alive and everything is fine as long as we keep this to ourselves."

"Not real—? But you murdered somebody!"

"...Who?" Fletcher looked surprised.

Who? Did Fletcher just who-ed him? Did Fletcher just shot a man, his brother-in-law, and had the audacity to 'who' at Alex?

"Oh, Barron?" Fletcher realized. "He's coming. He just needs a minute to get away from the police and MI6."

"...Sorry, what?"

"Barron is a good swimmer." Fletcher stood then gestured at the now-vacant bed. "Why don't you get some sleep? We have a long way to go tomorrow."

A knock on the door interrupted them. Fletcher glanced toward it. Three curt knocks followed. "That must be Barron," said Fletcher. The assassin opened the door and welcomed in the half-dry man whom Alex had seen tumbling into the pier and presumably dead or dying then. Alex's mouth was open. He closed them quietly.

"You're dead."

The man narrowed his eyes at the wall behind Alex, squinting. He was taller than Fletcher which forced him to bend slightly in order to enter. After a while, the head of Scorpia shook his head and replied, "I'm alive."

"No, I saw you die and—"

"I'm alive," repeated the man. Then the head of Scorpia turned to Fletcher. "May I have my glasses? I can't see anything. All I can see is a brown mop talking."

Readily, Fletcher reached into his pocket and handed the man's glasses to him. The head of Scorpia put it on, blinked, and adjusted it with his left hand. Fletcher introduced them. "Alex, this is Barron. Barron, Alex."

Barron nodded. "Yassen?"

"In the bathroom."

The man adjusted his glasses again then he took off his wet coat and threw it on the back of the chair. Underneath the coat, Alex saw the same plastic bag still dripping red over the man's shoulder. With a look of disgust, Barron chucked the bag at Fletcher. "Don't make me do this ever again." Then he went to the wardrobe to change out of his wet clothing. Fletcher looked irritated.

Alex stood up and tiptoed to Fletcher. "What's happening? Should I call the police?"

Fletcher gave him a look. "You shouldn't."

"You sure?"

"I'm sure."

"Okay." Alex quieted. Then he asked again, "But, are you sure?"

Ignoring him, Fletcher sat down. "Remember the rule of the game?" Alex nodded. "The last remaining recruit gets to join Scorpia? You're the last recruit, Alex. Tomorrow we will take you to the headquarter and you will be introduced to the board. Then you will officially be a part of Scorpia."

Alex blinked. Fletcher didn't seem to be answering his question. "I don't get it."

"What is there to not get? We are the last team."

"But you…the USB…we didn't accomplish the goal. You went against Scorpia. I don't get it."

"It was an act. To see if you're qualified for what you will be doing for us." Fletcher's tone changed. "Last time we met, I told you to choose a side. Us or them. And you chose us. Today's was the last test." The assassin smiled but there was something awful about it. "I've been rooting for you since day one, Alex. I did everything I could to eliminate the obstacles in your path and I put up this act for you to prove yourself."

"This act? You mean… _everything_ was fake?" Alex thought back to his father. The man had appeared in front of his eye, unharmed and seemingly unaware of what Alex had gone through. The first time he met Fletcher, the assassin had told him he'd kidnapped Alex's father. Then he admitted that he hadn't and it was, in fact, mere words to get Alex into the game. Fletcher had promised to take him to his father. And Fletcher didn't deliver because it was _Eagle_ who had taken him to his father. Had Fletcher been lying to him this whole time? Had everything been an act?

"Not everything. The game was very much real. So was the bounty on our heads and our chase for the USB." Fletcher paused, considering. "But I admit, my greed for power was not. In the grand scheme of things, the act began the moment I told you we needed the USB in order to win the game. The USB was never part of the game. It was a disruption I created."

Alex didn't need to count back to know that that was a lot of days living with a big fat lie. He felt betrayed and horribly lied to and toyed with. He had trusted Fletcher and he thought Fletcher had trusted him. "So everything was not real." Alex sat down.

"It was a test," repeated Fletcher. "And now, you're an agent."

Just like that? "And the story about you and my father? Your fiancee? Your brother-in-law."

"That was real."

"So you want to use me to get to my father."

"No, I want you to become an agent because I need your help." Fletcher paused. " _Scorpia_ needs your help."

Alex turned in his seat. "...What?"

Quietly, Yassen appeared. Alex hadn't heard the opening of the washroom door. The pale assassin caught Fletcher's gaze and jerked his head toward the door. Let's talk outside, his posture said. Fletcher stood up and nodded. The two left Alex on the stool and went outside. Yassen looked displeased, a cold chilling aura emitting from his stiff figure.

Fletcher closed the door behind them and waited. Yassen hadn't been on board with the idea of using Alex but what his friend didn't realize was that Alex was the ideal candidate. The kid had a history with Scorpia through his father and had already proven himself to be capable—although there was room for improvement when it came to emotions.

Clearly disagreeing, Yassen stopped him. "He does not belong."

"I didn't do everything that I did just to give him up," said Fletcher. "Alex will be useful as bait."

"The Head is not a fish you can bait."

"I don't need to haul the Head out of the water. I just need the hook to pierce his skin long enough for me to spear him." Fletcher crossed his arms. "The Head will take interest in Alex."

"You're asking Alex to kill a man."

"He doesn't have to."

"He will be the only one who can."

Fletcher hummed. "We will see."

" _Fletcher_."

"Alex is just a pawn," Fletcher warned. "For the greater good, there are some things we must sacrifice." He paused. "And talk to Barron later. Tell him to _never_ bring up my fiancee or Alex's father again. If he wants to play a part in this, he must follow the plan."

"He played his part well."

"It was not in the script."

"You reacted well," Yassen said. Sometimes, Fletcher couldn't read his friend as easily as he thought. "You two sold the act."

"If Barron has something say about the past, he best say it outright and not in such a muddled way." Fletcher shook his head. "I don't like it when we stray from the plan."

A breeze of cold wind drifted past them. It wasn't snowing yet but it might as well be. A few days into January and already the temperature was dropping on them. Yassen turned. "Don't push Barron. You cannot demand loyalty."

Inside the house, the wardrobe closed with a click. Barron joined Alex in the room. The head of Scorpia sat down on the stool next to him and cleaned his glasses using the hem of his shirt.

"Don't disappoint us," Barron said suddenly without looking up.

"Sorry?"

The man put on his glasses and looked at him, brown eyes seemingly lifeless and like a chasm ready to swallow Alex whole. "Fletcher recruited you to help us."

Fletcher had said the same thing but Alex didn't understand. "What is there to help with?"

"We want you to kill the head of Scorpia."

There was a moment of silence. Wasn't Barron the head of Scorpia? Was the man talking about suicide because that was an awfully weird way of putting it? "I can't kill you."

Barron frowned. "Me? No, not me."

"But you're the head of Scorpia."

"Fletcher didn't tell you?" Barron glanced at him. A ray of light reflected from the lenses. "There's me and then there's _the_ head of Scorpia. We call him the Head. I'm the face of Scorpia, more or less. He makes the decision. I relay them. And the agents carry it out."

"I'm not killing anyone," Alex said. Then he wished he hadn't. He was sitting in front of an assassin who wasn't Fletcher. Were they all as tolerant?

"You will." Barron paused, hands moving to adjust his glasses again. "After all, it's only with our contributions that you won the game so don't disappoint us."

Alex hesitated. "Contributions?" The term sounded too polite.

"We eliminated the obstacles that Fletcher mentioned," Barron said vaguely. The man took off his glasses and began wiping them again. There seemed to be a smudge he was trying to get rid of. "We eliminate those Fletcher cannot get rid of easily."

"What do you mean?"

Barron lifted his glasses in the air. Alex couldn't see a difference but Barron clearly did because, with a look of satisfy, the man put it back on. "Have you competed in a swimming tournament before, little Alex?"

"Yeah?"

"Think of it this way. Wouldn't it be so much easier to win if you're the only one racing?" Barron smiled at him. "That's Fletcher asks us to do. We kill your opponents so that you can win. Those that you cannot bear to kill, we kill them for you. You see, it's like a butcher shop. Fletcher orders. We deliver."

Something caught itself in Alex's throat. He tried to move back, but the chair felt as if it was glued to the floor. He was sitting in front of a monster, Alex realized. No, not just Barron. Alex had been dealing with another monster for a long while.

"Fletcher would ring me up," Barron continued, taking off his glasses and putting them back on. "And then he'd give me a name. First, it was Richard Mentis—that old man won't survive in Scorpia anyway. Don't know why he bothers with the game. Then there's James Thompson, Carol Thompson, and little Mikey Thompson..." The man listed off the names, savoring the memories as he counted them with his fingers. He ran out and began again. Some of the names Alex had never heard before and some Alex thought he had heard in passing. Barron accompanied each name with a lazy pause. It was a long list but short like the burning fuse of a ticking bomb.

Then he stopped. On his third round through his fingers, Barron paused at the ring finger and wiggled his pinkie back and forth. "I'm forgetting someone. The last one. _Ah_." Barron snapped his fingers. "How could I forget? That was the first time Fletcher ever hesitated in giving the kill name."

He closed his eyes as if to visualize a piece of paper sliding across a bloodied butcher's table. "It was a girl, I remember. Ah, Claire Chester. Pity she had to die. She reminds me a little of my sister."


End file.
